


Dead men tell no tales

by Orestiad



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Golden Age of Piracy, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor England/France (Hetalia), Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oral Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Pirate England (Hetalia), Pirates, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, USUK - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orestiad/pseuds/Orestiad
Summary: Desperate to escape an arranged marriage, Alfred fakes his own death and unknowingly boards a pirate ship. Now he has a choice: drown, or join captain Arthur Kirkland's crew.
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 74





	1. Southern England, May 1711

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, after I got back into writing for this pairing, I couldn't stop thinking about my old pirate fic.... and I decided to rewrite it :) For those who have already read it: a lot of it will be the same, but a lot will also be different. Also because I've grown a lot as a writer and because I recognize I handled some parts of the story badly due to trying to rush through it. So if you're reading again: I hope you'll enjoy it! 
> 
> Like before, I'll add explanations if I deem them necessary in the notes at the end. Also: I'm trying to make this story as historically accurate as possible, but I'll take some liberties here and there. Anyway, it'll mean there will be some period-typical attitudes. I'll try and warn at the start of each chapter if I think there might be something that people want to avoid reading.

At some point in life, every man or woman will have to make an important decision. They might even have to make several important decisions, ones that could potentially change their life forever.

These were exactly the kind of decisions that Alfred loved to avoid.

His parents will blame it on him not wanting to grow up – but Alfred would explain it by simply wanting to be free.

He didn’t care much for matters that concerned work, money or marriage. Not when there was a whole world out there, one that could offer him all kinds of adventures.

Unfortunately life had thrown him a different bone.

He had a pretty amazing and careless childhood, one where he could play to his heart’s content and one where he had the opportunity to learn how to read and write. But eventually his father managed to somehow work himself into a huge debt. By the time his wife and children found out, it’d already been too late.

One of the only solutions was to try and marry their sons off into wealthy families. His brothers didn’t really seem to care as much as he did – in fact, Matthew got along swimmingly well with his fiancée, and Albert was of course still a little too young to really understand what was happening.

But Alfred was the oldest son. On top of having to marry a girl he didn’t love, Alfred would also have to take over his father’s company and, consequently, the family debts. It was a far cry from the adventurous, liberate life Alfred used to dream of as a kid.

The stupidest thing was, that it was actually Matthew who _did_ have the desire to take over the family business. It was Matthew that was good with numbers, finances and everything Alfred had never really bothered to understand.

But Matthew wasn’t the oldest, and therefore his father wouldn’t have it. Silly, really, because as the head of the company, Alfred would probably just end up giving Matthew all the power anyway.

“Alfred, your face is going to get stuck if you frown like that.”

Alfred blinked as a feminine voice woke him from his daydreaming, and he focused on the girl opposite of him.

His fiancée Alice was admittedly quite a lovely girl. She was sweet, dainty and witty. With her long blonde hair, her dark eyes and her petite figure, she was also easy on the eye. But most importantly, she came from a rich English family.

When they first met, she’d looked at him with surprise, obviously having thought he’d look different. Alfred knew he was rather easy on the eye as well – all those years wrestling with his younger brothers, fighting the resident bullies and working on the docks for some spare cash, left him in a good shape.

But he’d never really bothered with the attentions from any giggling girls before, and while he could objectively agree that Alice was attractive, he felt absolutely nothing romantic or physical for her either.

Nevertheless, he remembered his manners, and offered her a polite smile. “Why I thought girls liked a serious man, one with a serious look about him.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, unimpressed, before sparing a glance to her parents, who were dining with his own parents a few feet away from them. He didn’t really believe that they chaperoned because they feared they would do anything indecent – no, they probably chaperoned because his parents knew exactly how much he disliked this whole arrangement.

They wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow bailed and frankly said, neither would he. Or Alice, for that matter – the two really had nothing in common, and once Alfred figured out she was actually in love with some stable boy from Portugal, he’d given up trying to play pretend too.

He took another sip from his tea and let his eyes wander elsewhere again. Bailing had been on his mind constantly the past few days. Aside from joining the navy in the war against Spain and France, it seemed like it was his only way out. But it tore at him, because he didn’t want to abandon his family, his little brothers.

Yet he was also getting desperate – the wedding date was approaching and he could no longer convince his parents to delay it. No, they decided that once he would turn twenty-one, enough would be enough. He supposed he was already surprised they hadn’t married him off at eighteen, like his brothers Matthew and Albert will be.

Alice’s foot bumped against his underneath the table and he nearly spilled his tea, smiling sheepishly when he realized he’d been lost in thought again.

“You know I hate this as much as you do, Alfred.” She began softly. “But we have to look like we’re enjoying ourselves.”

“I don’t see why. They know we both don’t agree with this arrangement.”

“Well, we can’t all have what we want. What would you do instead? Run?” Her eyes widened slightly when he silently shrugged. “Are you going to run?” She accused then, looking a little scandalized.

“Would it be such a terrible idea?” He mused, as if merely entertaining the notion.

“I suppose not.” Alice agreed, surprisingly enough. “It would offer us both a way out. No offense.”

“None taken.” He smiled easily, straightening a little just for propriety’s sake. “I’ve been toying with the idea of just disappearing, starting over somewhere else, see the world. But it’s just wistful thinking.”

Alice looked contemplative for a moment, daintily sipping her tea and studying him with her dark eyes. She spared another sideways glance to their chaperones before leaning forward a little. “Is it? You could stage a kidnapping, or maybe even your own death. There’s a supply ship you could hide on that’s leaving tonight.”

Alfred stayed silent, a little flabbergasted. Apparently she’d thought about this too, or she was a master at improvising.

“Are you serious? I can’t just abandon my family. What kind of a man would do that?”

Alice shrugged. “Plenty of men do so nowadays. Besides, you could earn money elsewhere and send it back home. That way you won’t abandon them completely.”

Alfred leaned back in his chair again, regarding her incredulously. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and suddenly he realized she wasn’t as innocent and dainty as he had imagined her to be. No, there was definitely something adventurous inside her too, and for a moment, he wondered what it would be like if they _were_ to marry. Perhaps they could at least become good friends.

But what she was proposing sounded much, much better. Even though the excitement caused by the mere idea entwined heavily with the nasty feeling of guilt inside of him.

“All right, I’ll bite. How do you propose I make my grand escape?” He asked eventually, chuckling when she perked up considerably and leaned forward some more, as if telling him a secret.

“Tonight, you’ll say that you want to take a stroll along the docks. Make up a lie – maybe you’re coming to terms with this marriage and you want to clear your head a little. I’ll be waiting for you at the docks, of course. You’ll have to bring a chicken and kill it, so we can use its blood to stage a kidnapping or fight. Then you hide on the supply ship and by the time anyone figures out you’re missing, you’ll already be on sea.”

“Holy shit,” Alfred said, astonished once more. Apparently, she really spent some time thinking about this. “That’s brilliant.”

“Don’t cuss.” She reprimanded, raising her teacup for another sip. “There is of course a chance that the supply ship is actually a smuggling ship.”

Alfred pursed his lips – she was right. Smuggling had been at an all-time high in Southern England the past few years, but so far there hadn’t been any violent encounters at all. In fact, the townspeople and supposed smugglers got along quite nicely. Even if the supply ship turned out to be a smuggling ship, they’d probably be sympathetic to his cause. They would just put him to work until he managed to pay them off.

“Still, what you’re saying… this could actually work.”

The realization hit him hard, then. He could start over, or could perhaps even continue sailing. He’d earn money here and there, see more of the world. His family would be heartbroken of course, but he could contact them the moment he settled somewhere. He could explain then, that this would be the best choice for everyone. And Matthew and Albert would have his back… probably.

“Are you sure, Alfred? We can’t stage all this for you to get cold feet.”

Alfred looked at his parents and promptly made up his mind. This really was the best decision or everyone. Matthew could take over the company, something he wanted to do anyway. His parents would no longer have to fret over their oldest son not living up to their expectations. Albert would be sad, of course, but he’d understand eventually. And Alfred could try and live the life he actually wanted to live.

“I’m sure.” He said then, nodding at her. “Thank you for this, Alice. Hopefully this will be in your favor, too.”

Alice gave him a warm and gentle smile, and Alfred knew then that he was doing the right thing.

* * *

Saying goodbye on such a short notice was tough, especially since Alfred couldn’t _actually_ say goodbye. He grabbed whatever belongings and spare cash he could easily carry without it seeming suspicious, and spent an hour or so playing with Albert. Matthew was definitely suspicious when Alfred gave him a tight hug, but simply pat his back and ruffled his hair. The look on Matthew’s face nearly made him cave and admit to everything, but he soldiered on.

There was no other way, after all. He tried not to sniffle when he kissed his mother good night, and left to look for Alice near the docks. As promised, she was waiting for him in an alley behind a tavern, smiling sweetly as he approached.

Surprisingly enough, he had no second thoughts. It wouldn’t be a perfect lie, but it could work. The town was dull and hardly anything happened here, but Alfred had made enough rivals here growing up. And the blame could always go to smugglers, of course.

He slung the bag with the dead chicken on the ground, halfheartedly explaining that he stole it from a neighbor. He’d been quick about it, and hoped that the poor animal never felt a thing. Alice refused to help him set up the scene, only offering instructions on how it would look most believable. Once he was done, she carefully ripped a piece of his shirt off and threw it behind her carelessly, explaining that it would now look like there had been a scuffle.

Then she turned back to him and pulled him into a tight hug. “You be careful, Alfred Jones. Don’t you dare get caught or killed.”

Alfred felt fondness surge warmly in his chest for this intelligent girl who had shared his bad luck. If they hadn’t been forced to marry, maybe they would’ve been good friends.

“Thank you, Alice. I hope you and your stable boy work out.”

“He works at the bakery!” Alice huffed, slapping him on the arm and Alfred grinned sheepishly. “Get out of here, you.”

He saluted her with a cheeky smile, before disappearing towards the docks. It was quiet on the streets, what with it being late at night. Most people were inside their homes, dining or getting ready to bed.

Even the ships were relatively quiet. He found the ship he was looking for rather quickly – it was bigger than most other ships docked in the harbor, and looked fancier, too. On its mast was a flag from a well-known trading company, and Alfred ignored the little voice in his head saying this was too easy.

If it was like any normal ship, he had a fair idea of where he could hide for now, like the supply room or weapon room. Hopefully they’d sail far, far from here – he had heard great stories about Virginia Colony and Connecticut Colony, but he’d settle for anything but here, really.

For some reason, it wasn’t terribly hard to sneak onto the ship unnoticed. The men on guard were relieved by another group of men, and Alfred used the distraction to pose as one of the sailors, carrying a crate high enough to hide most of his face. Once on the deck, he easily found a small and vacant weapon supply room.

As he eased himself behind some crates, he felt a little suspicious about how easy this had been. Something felt a little wrong, but he chalked it up to his guilt and anxiety. And what was the worst that could happen, anyway? Eventually he’d get caught of course, but he would just explain his situation, give them the cash he had on hand and offer to work for everything else.

The captain of the ship might be irritated with him, but Alfred was strong and intelligent, and he was sure he could be useful until they’d drop his sorry ass on the next dock available. Just like he intended.

He sighed and tried not to think of his family. He’d miss them terribly, but this was for the best. Perhaps, in a few years, he could return home and reconcile with them. But for now, all he could do was sleep and wait.

* * *

Alfred woke slowly. The first thing he realized, was that he wasn’t in his bed or even in his home. He wasn’t on a street after a drunken brawl either, judging by the rocking movement he felt.

Then he realized he was also not where he fell asleep last night. He wasn’t uncomfortably squished between crates of weapons supplies. No, he felt as if he had all the room in the world, and it was also a little colder.

Lastly, he suddenly realized his head hurt like a bitch, and that the drop of temperature was caused by a breeze.

Opening his eyes and squinting against the sudden sunlight, Alfred realized he had to be on the ship’s deck. He sat up quickly, but nearly toppled backwards due to the dizzying headache the movement induced, and had to take a second to sort himself out before he could straighten again. It felt as if he'd received a blow to the head, but he couldn't remember it actually happening.

“Well, if it ain’t the stowaway wakin’ up from his beauty sleep.” Someone sneered, and only then did Alfred realize he wasn’t alone, either.

He carefully opened his eyes again, pleased when it didn’t sting as much as it did before, and spotted several people looming around him. The man nearest to him looked down at him angrily, and Alfred had to swallow down a nasty bout of fear, reminding himself he was on a supply ship.

The best thing to do right now, was to properly introduce himself and to apologize. “I –“

“Shut yer trap! Oi, marooner! Go call the cap’n. Tell ‘im the landlubber woke up.”

Alfred frowned and sat up a little straighter, deciding against standing up just yet. He was well aware that he was already on sea, and he wasn’t about to stand up only to stumble down again. That would only add salt to the wound.

“Yer in some big trouble, laddie.” The man above him then said, and Alfred chanced another look at him. It was only then that he noticed he looked rather odd for a sailor, as if he were a little too rough around the edges.

The other sailors around him had a similar look, and they all looked at him with smug grins, smirks or glares. He was about to voice his confusion when a door slammed shut, and the murmurs and hooting abruptly stopped.

Alfred turned towards the direction of the sound, and raised his eyebrows when he spotted who had caused it.

The man approaching him was dressed rather flamboyantly, if Alfred had to be honest. He wore a spectacular red coat, one that was adorned with golden embroidery. Underneath it he wore a white shirt with ruffles, held together at the top with some kind of gem. On top of a head full of untamed, golden blonde hair perched a hat with feathers and a string of beads attached to it.

Eventually Alfred’s eyes landed on the man’s face, and he was met with what had to be the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. It was almost like they burned right into his soul, and they vaguely reminded him a little of the eyes of a feral cat Alfred had once seen.

The only thing that seemed a little off, were the man's somewhat bushy eyebrows. Alfred was almost tempted to chuckle once he saw them, but the predatory look the man gave him prevented him from making any sound.

He forced a polite smile at what had to be the captain and moved to get on his feet, but a rough shove pushed him back onto the ground and he grimaced at the man responsible, the same man who had sneered at him before.

Something… something felt very, very wrong here. The captain's attire was strange, as was the hostile behavior of the sailors around him. Alfred almost didn’t want to, but forced himself to look up at the mast.

Where a trading company’s flag had hung before, now hung a Jolly Roger. A pirate flag.

“Damn it.” He cursed underneath his breath. What an idiot he was – he'd thought the ship had seemed too big, too fancy and too daring. It had stood out from every other ship, and still Alfred hadn’t connected the dots.

“What was that?” The captain said then, coming to a halt in front of him and glaring down at him. The man rested one hand on his belt, purposefully dragging Alfred's attention to the pistol holstered there.

It took everything Alfred had not to immediately start panicking. What were the fucking odds, after all? Pirates never came to his town! It was just his luck to pick the one bloody pirate ship to ever dock in his town, on the exact day he decided to make a run for it.

He resisted gulping when he looked back up at the captain, who was now smirking somewhat spitefully. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he was a little (a lot) scared – he hadn’t ever dealt with pirates, after all. He only heard stories about them; wonderful ones, that were also absolutely frightening.

“And who might you be?” The captain eventually asked, a British accent heavy in his voice.

“Alfred Jones, sir.” Alfred immediately replied, trying to appear as friendly as he could. One wrong answer or move and he might as well be keelhauled, after all.

“Tell me, Jones. What exactly are you doing on my ship?”

Alfred swallowed, trying not to stutter. “I – I needed to get out of town. “

Some of the sailors around him – no, not sailors, but _pirates_ – burst out in laughter. The captain furrowed his eyebrows (and man, they were disproportionately large, Alfred kept getting distracted by them) at his crew, before glaring back at him with a smirk.

Alfred wasn’t aware one could glare and smirk at the same time, but this man had it down to a fine art.

“Did you realize we were pirates?”

“No. There was a different flag when I boarded.” He admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment when some pirates roared with laughter again.

“Quite a shame.” The captain then said, sounding bored. He turned to the man next to him and nodded sideways to Alfred. “See him to Davy Jones’ Locker.” The captain halted then, tilting his head and eyeing Alfred with some amusement, before turning around and starting to walk away.

Any other time, Alfred would’ve seen the humor of him sharing a name with the metaphor of the bottom of the sea. But right now, he was kind of stuck on the bottom of the sea part, instead.

Two men roughly hoisted him up and Alfred immediately saw that they were in the middle of the ocean. There was no land in sight – he could never swim back to land, and thus he would drown or be eaten by sharks.

“Wait!” He cried out immediately, wrecking his memory for the pretend-piracy plays he used to enact with his younger brother as kids. What was that weird word they used when they needed a break.. It was a French word, wasn't it? Pearl? Parl? No, it was; “Parley! I ask for parley!”

The rowdy men on the deck immediately quieted down, and the captain stopped walking. The two men dragging him across the deck stopped moving as well, but they still held him in their grips. The captain suddenly turned around with an irritated snarl, walking back over to him with large steps that barely made a sound at all.

The captain, who Alfred now realized was actually a little shorter than he was, muttered something about the French and about frogs. Then he pushed against Alfred’s chest with one of his gloved hands, and he stumbled backwards as the men who were holding him immediately released him.

“Parley is a meeting held between two superiors. Tell me, of what are you a superior?”

“That was a long time ago.” Alfred immediately said, somewhat amazed by his own memory (then again, Matthew and him had really gone at it as kids). “It’s part of the code, right?”

Alfred had only read about the so called pirate code in a book or two when growing up, and never in much detail. Thankfully he realized he was correct when the captain frowned, his lips curled upwards in a sneer. The shorter blonde gestured at the two men at Alfred’s side and they promptly grabbed him again, and for a moment Alfred thought this was the end.

But then the captain nodded towards the area below the quarter deck. “See this swab to my quarters.” 

Despite knowing he was far from being in the clear, Alfred nearly sagged with relief. He tried not to appear too intimidated as he was shoved towards the captain's quarters, painstakingly aware of the dire situation he was in and unsure if he could talk his way out of it.

After a short walk, he was unceremoniously pushed into what he assumed were the captain’s quarters. They were rather spacious, and laden with extravagant trinkets and expensive looking furniture. On the right was a large side table with a globe embedded in its middle, and near the window was a large desk covered with papers, coins, books and an empty bottle. 

“Leave.” The captain ordered, and the two men were gone in an instant, the door closing behind them. Alfred wasn’t sure if their absence was better than their presence, but at least now he only had to focus on one man, instead of three.

He remained still as the shorter blonde eyed him up and down, the intense scrutiny making him want to fidget with something. Then the captain abruptly walked over to his desk, sitting down on the chair and swinging his boots onto the table. He extracted a dagger from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers. If it were an attempt to intimidate Alfred any further, it was certainly working.

“All right Jones, you have your parley. Sit, and convince me not to feed you to the sharks.”

Alfred pursed his lips, quickly gave himself a mental pep-talk, and marched over to the chair opposite of the captain’s desk. He was going to talk his way out of this, and he was going to seize the opportunity of starting over – _even_ if it meant having to work for pirates.

He had no idea how to go about this parley thing, but he did know that he was going to have to convince the man in front of him not to kill him or throw him overboard. He realized that a pirate ship wouldn’t just let him hitch a ride for free – he’d have to work for it.

“I simply want to travel to whatever your next destination is.” He began uncertainly, sitting down on the chair he was appointed. “And I’m willing to work for my stay, of course.” The captain was still scrutinizing him, his expression unreadable. “I, eh… I’m strong, and I’m a hard worker.” He added, hoping it might sway the captain in his favor. “Oh! And I can swim, read and write. If that, eh, helps.”

The blonde man in front of him tilted his head, but other than that, his expression was still unreadable. Alfred had no idea if he was positively inclined towards him or not. He figured he might as well wait for a reply, before he’d accidentally say something that would lead to his untimely demise.

“Why are you here, Jones?” The man then suddenly asked, catching the dagger he’d been twirling between his fingers in his palm. “What did you escape from?”

Alfred bit the inside of his cheek, deciding he might as well be honest. “A life that wasn’t meant for me, sir. If I stayed, I would’ve been forced to marry and take over my family’s business.”

The captain pursed his lips, nodding as if he could at least understand his reasoning. Alfred figured most pirates became pirates so that they could escape a life that wasn’t meant for them.

“If I may be so bold,” he began then, trying not to wince when the captain’s acidic green eyes shot back to him. “who are you exactly? And what ship is this?”

That got a more noticeable reaction – the captain smirked and shook his head, as if hearing a stupid joke. Alfred realized he probably ought to have known, which probably meant that the captain was quite notorious. Alfred might be in bigger trouble than he’d thought.

“I am Arthur Kirkland, captain of the Emerald Dragon.” The man, Arthur, then said, voice laced with amusement.

 _Well_ , _shit_. While Alfred had never seen a picture of the ship or of its captain, he certainly knew their names. The Emerald Dragon was an infamous ship. Its name was earned not only by its dark green wooden hull or speed, but also by its destructive weaponry, with cannons that fired so rapidly that it seemed as if the ship spat fire at its opponents. Usually Alfred read about the ship in the news, when it thwarted the Navy.

The recognition must’ve been clear on his face, because Arthur Kirkland smirked again. Alfred didn’t really know what to say in return, the fear that he was probably going to die increasing, and he looked around helplessly for a second.

“So you ran from your problems.” Arthur said then, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and to cushion his chin on his hands, the picture of nonchalance. “What of your family?”

Alfred resisted a grimace, knowing that the harsh truth was that he simply abandoned them. But it was much more complicated than that. “I staged my own death. They’ll mourn, but they’ll be fine. My younger brother will take over my role and will probably do a better job of it anyway.”

Arthur nodded again, seemingly taking his story into consideration. He didn’t look very hostile at that moment and so Alfred allowed himself to relax a tiny bit, trying not to eye the dagger still in Arthur’s hand too much. He could picture it ending up in his eye socket and would rather it left his line of sight altogether.

“It’s not the most original story I have heard.” Arthur then said, eyeing Alfred up and down again. “I’ve thrown stowaways with better stories off my ship anyway. Why should I let you live?”

“Like I said, I’ll work. I won’t cause any trouble, or steal, and you can dump me on whatever land we pass next. I even have a bit off…” He patted around on his body before realizing that they took all of his belongings. “Well, you already took what little I have.”

“Smart boy.” Arthur said condescendingly and Alfred did his best not to glare. “However, should you stay, I cannot simply let you go. I’m sure you are familiar with the saying ‘dead men tell no tales’.”

Alfred tensed, knowing exactly what he meant. If he’d acquire valuable information, and he would be allowed to leave, he could report it to authorities. But a dead man wouldn’t be able to snitch. “I am.” He settled on saying, trying to sound confident.

“As it happens, we are low on swabbies. If you think you can work on my ship, I’ll consider letting you live.” Alfred had no idea what a swabbie was, but he was willing to take it regardless. “Where did you plan on going, if you had your way?”

“Anywhere would’ve been fine. I suppose I’ve thought about New England.”

Arthur tilted his head towards him, as if he approved of his choice. Then he threw the dagger he had in his hand towards Alfred, who managed to catch it, though it left a slight nick in his palm. “You’re going to need that if you’re going to join my crew. But remember that we’ll be watching you, and that you’ll not be a free man on my ship.”

Alfred tried not to sink back in his chair with relief. It wasn’t a time to relax, after all, and he was aware that he would still have to be on his guard constantly the next few days. And yet, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips – he’d bloody done it. He managed to convince pirate captain Arthur fucking Kirkland to keep him alive, for now.

“I’m glad you find this funny.” Arthur droned then, appearing unimpressed. “But if I were you, I would get to work.”

Then he stood up, and Alfred quickly scrambled out of his own chair too, following Arthur when the shorter blonde gestured at him to do so. With his back turned to him, Alfred allowed himself to study Arthur for a few seconds. He moved elegantly, but dangerously. Despite his flamboyant attire, his movements made nearly no sound, and he moved a lot more confidently on the swaying deck than Alfred did.

Even with his back turned to him, and with a dagger in his hands, Alfred realized that he could probably never take the man on in a fight.

Arthur opened the door and left his quarters, walking up to one of the two men that had manhandled Alfred a while earlier, and nodding his head back towards Alfred. Now that Alfred felt at ease enough to actually study the pirates around him, he noticed many of them were not likely of British descent. 

“It seems we have a new swabbie.” Arthur announced, loud enough that his surrounding crew heard as well. Some of the men snickered and leered at Alfred, and he realized it was probably the lowest ranking position one could have on a ship. “James, show him around.”

The dark-skinned man at Arthur’s side nodded, and Alfred hesitantly walked over to him when their eyes met.

“Try not to get him killed on his first day.” Arthur then added, smirking at Alfred and ignoring the laughter of the men around him. Alfred bit his tongue and refused to show his nervousness, watching the captain turn back around and reenter his quarters.

The man next to him, James, shoved his shoulder against his own. For some reason, the gesture felt friendly, but Alfred wasn’t about to get his hopes up.

“All right lubber, time for the grand ol’ tour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explanations:
> 
> \- James is (male) Seychelles  
> \- I couldn't come up with a suitable location for Alfred's home town, so that's why the chapter's name is simply Southern England lol. I imagine it being a moderately small town somewhere between Portsmouth and Plymouth.  
> \- The War of the Spanish Succession lasted until 1714. In the war, England, Portugal and the Netherlands sided with the Holy Roman Empire against Spain and France.  
> \- I'm not sure about the exact date, but there was a lot of smuggling throughout the South Coast of England in the 18th century. However, people were favorably inclined towards them.  
> \- Davy Jones wasn't actually mentioned in books until 1726, and I think Davy Jones' Locker wasn't really known until the 1800s, but I like to imagine that actual pirates already knew of him (whether or not he was an actual pirate) before that.  
> \- Parley was invented in the High Middle Ages. The root of the word is 'Parler', which is French for speaking.


	2. A Coruña, June 1711

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **First of all: I added a small bit to the last chapter, at the ending. It's the parley bit, I thought it'd fit better in there than in here.**
> 
> This chapter is twice as long as the first one, lol. I kind of want to do a chapter for each place they travel to, so that means some chapters might be longer than others, though I'll probably sometimes divide them into a part 1 and a part 2. 
> 
> Anyway, a lot happens in this chapter, too! If I failed to explain anything in the end notes, please let me know!

Of course Alfred had known that working on a ship would not be an easy task, but he had never really realized how much was actually involved. He tried his hardest to commit everything James told him to memory, starting with the lay-out of the frigate they sailed on, and the names of those who actually had a say.

Apart from (obviously) the captain, there was also a quartermaster named Yao and a boatswain called Leon. 

He was told that after Arthur, Yao had the most authority on the ship. Apparently he was in charge of making sure Arthur’s orders were carried out properly and that day-to-day tasks were taken care of. As boatswain, Leon was in charge of keeping the ship in good shape, so that they could travel or battle when necessary.

And then there was James himself, who fulfilled the role of first mate, meaning that he was in charge of the ship’s cargo and the deck crew. All things considered, he was actually quite a nice guy. He patiently answered most of Alfred’s questions, and even told him more about himself, explaining that Arthur had picked him up from an island in the Indian Ocean a few years prior.

However, James hardly answered his questions about the captain himself, and when he did, he was purposefully vague. He wasn’t sure if it was because Alfred wasn’t allowed to know the answers, or if his ignorance was being mocked.

After all, Alfred was fairly sure he could discover a lot about Arthur if he simply read a newspaper. If he’d ever get his hands on one again, that is.

Unfortunately, a swabbie was indeed the lowest ranking position a man could have on a ship full of pirates. Simply put, he was tasked with keeping the decks clean and with performing all chores that the other men didn’t want to do.

It was a little demeaning, but Alfred wasn’t about to complain and risk a worse fate.

He leaned on his swab and stared at the dark grey-blue waters in front of him, quietly reminiscing. It’s been about two weeks since he boarded the ship, and he was only just starting to get used to the constant rocking of the ship. Fortunately he hadn’t gotten really seasick, but he’d been awfully nauseous and clumsy the first few days.

Someone cursed and dropped a crate behind him and he turned, eyes unintentionally trailing towards the quarter deck above him.

Arthur was standing at the steering wheel with his quartermaster, Yao, looking ahead of him while Yao was reporting something to him.

He hadn’t really learned a lot about his captain yet, but then again, it wasn’t as if he often had the opportunity to engage with Arthur directly. He mostly observed Arthur from afar, and one thing he quickly learned, was that the crew respected their captain to the point of adoration. He was almost never met with any backtalk, and when he was, it usually came from Yao.

He supposed that, so far, Arthur hadn’t proven himself a bad captain. He glared more often than he smiled, but Alfred also once overheard him agreeing with the ship’s doctor to give one of his men sick-leave, something Alfred hadn’t thought was possible among pirates.

He was strict, though. There were certain rules that had to be followed no matter what. For example: there was a curfew. At eight pm, lights were to be turned off, and if men wanted to drink together, they were to do it on the decks.

He also didn’t allow any actual fighting among the crew – the penalty was either the brig, the sharks or, if you were lucky, lavatory-duty. Gambling with money wasn't allowed either, but he didn't care if people gambled with their chores or rations.

Yet despite everything, Alfred couldn’t help but feel… a little _underwhelmed_.

Somehow he believed pirates would constantly brawl or raid coastal cities and other ships. But instead they cleaned, climbed the masts, and drank insane amounts of rum. They amicably wrestled a little, they sang shanties (horribly off-key, Alfred might add), gossiped and cleaned some more.

It’s a far cry from what he had expected, even though he would never admit it out loud. He still had to sleep in their midst, after all.

“Rookie, you forgot a spot.”

Alfred grimaced – most of the crew left him alone, surprisingly enough, but there were a few troublemakers that seemed intent to make his life a living hell.

Sometimes he thought the no-fighting rule was kind of a bummer. When he was younger, he never let anyone push him around, and he’d broken quite some noses in his years.

However, even if he were allowed to physically harm the asshole behind him, he doubted he’d be up to it. He was absolutely exhausted, worked to the bone. His hands stung with blisters, he had a persistent sunburn on the back of his neck and his knees ached something terrible from how often he had to kneel down on them.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. After all, a few more days and he’d grow used to it, and he’ll only become stronger because of it.

Alfred glared at the brown-haired pirate next to him and looked down at where he pointed. “Nothing wrong with it.” 

“There is."

“Then clean it yourself, spongy.”

The pirate frowned at him and suddenly gave him a rough push. Alfred, who wasn’t prepared, stumbled back and hit the rails quite harshly. 

He had enough of this guy's antics. He was by far the worst – anytime they’d be in the same general area, he’d purposefully go up to him and bother him. Alfred didn’t even know who the hell he was, but he was getting sick and tired of his constant bullying.

The man crowded close to him again, probably in an attempt to intimidate him. Unfortunately for him, it gave Alfred the perfect opportunity to land a hit on him without it being seen by anyone important.

“If you don’t clean it now, I’ll make sure you lick – _ugh_!” He never got to finish the sentence, due to Alfred’s fist ramming into his kidneys.

The man stumbled backwards and grabbed Alfred by the collar to reciprocate. He pulled his arm back to punch him in the face, but Alfred saw it coming and easily dodged, tripping the man to the ground instead. Unfortunately he got dragged down as well, and they scuffled on the deck.

Alfred felt something tense inside of him slowly unfurl and dissolve. It felt good to release all his pent-up frustration, and he completely forgot about the no-fighting rule as a result. Some of the pirates around them started cheering and betting, and it only spurred them both on.

Their scuffle abruptly stopped when a gun was fired, and both Alfred and his opponent scrambled away from each other in surprise.

They looked up to see their captain approaching them, the pirates around them parting like the sea did for a Man-o-War. Arthur glared down at them, his gun still aimed to them both.

To Alfred’s side there was a slight indention, and Alfred realized he had missed on purpose this time.

“Is there a problem, boys?” Arthur asked threateningly.

“No problem, sir.” The other pirate immediately said, and Alfred frowned at him. Then Arthur turned to him, obviously expecting the same answer from him.

Alfred was still riding his high, however, and decided he’d had enough. He got to his feet and ignored the (admittedly terrifying) look Arthur gave him.

“Actually, he was being a dick.” The moment he said it, several pirates around him started snickering, and he refused to acknowledge their immaturity. “And I got tired of it. I just want to do my job after all.”

Arthur glanced at the other pirate, and it prompted the man to quickly get to his feet as well. “Were you being a… dick, Ralph?” Arthur inquired then, also ignoring his men’s immature giggling.

“I was jus’ runnin’ a rig.” Ralph said then, a grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know the swabbie could hit that hard!” He sounded almost respectful, and Alfred tilted his head towards him with surprise.

Arthur spun the pistol in his hand once before holstering it again, resting his hand on his belt and staring at them icily.

“Now that Jones has proven his mean right hook, I expect no more funny business.”

With that, he promptly turned around and retreated back towards the quarter deck, where an exasperated looking Yao waited for him.

“Ye heard the cap’n, scallywags!” James announced, prompting everyone to get back to what they were doing before. 

Ralph approached him and slapped his back with a grin. Alfred shrugged him off immediately, lips curled in a snarl, and Ralph quickly raised his hands to show he didn’t mean any harm. “Don’t take it so seriously, lad! We was jus’ havin’ a laugh, aye?”

“If this is your idea of a laugh, I’ve got something hilarious for you.” 

Ralph laughed again, the sound loud enough to startle Alfred lightly. “Calm down, rookie. I was only testin’ ya. There’s no room for softies on this ship, savvy? At least now everyone knows what yer made of.”

Alfred’s anger disappeared slowly, as he took what the brown-haired pirate said into consideration. The captain did mention something about no more funny business now that Alfred had proven he could handle himself. Perhaps this was some weird, hazing tradition among the crew.

Ralph slapped his back again, and this time Alfred let him, albeit suspiciously. “Loosen up, Jones! Put yer swab away and have a drink with me.”

Deciding he was due for a break anyway, Alfred hesitantly agreed, following him and some others down into the galley.

* * *

Over the next few days, Alfred ironically enough started to consider Ralph a friend. He learned that Ralph was a carpenter, and was thus responsible for the ship’s structural integrity and for fixing any damage after combat or storms.

They hung out often, and Ralph even managed to sometimes steal Alfred from the deck so that he could help out with any repairs or improvements. Despite the work involving a lot of heavy lifting, it was a thousand times better than constantly cleaning the decks.

He’d even introduced him to the ship’s doctor then, who had laughed at his blisters and sunburns and had given him some lotions that soothed and accelerated the healing process.

After three weeks, he was actually starting to feel a little comfortable, dangerous as it might be. He got along better with the crew, and was even included in banter and taught several basics of sailing as well as lyrics of shanties.

He finally learned about their sailing route, too. They were currently in Spanish waters, and would dock at A Coruña the next morning.

Apparently the journey had taken far longer than expected, due to a slight diversion they took to avoid a flotilla. Usually the journey was supposed to take less than a week, and Alfred could understand why some crew-mates were so antsy to dock.

After A Corunã, they would continue on to Africa before crossing the Atlantic Ocean towards the Americas. Eventually they’d circle back to Portugal, to start the Pirate Round. Arthur had apparently meticulously planned out the next few years, and in his curious excitement, Alfred forgot that tagging along for the entire ride hadn’t been his initial plan.

Then again; he wanted to see the world, didn’t he?

“Jones!” Just as Alfred left the galley after dinner, one of the riggers approached him, walking with a slight limp. “Could ya take over my shift on the mast tonight? I can’t climb up, ya see.”

Alfred looked down at his legs, recalling the limp in his step, and then looked up at the crow’s nest on the foremast. It was quite a ways up, but Alfred wasn’t particularly afraid of heights, and he had been kind of curious as to how it was up there.

“Fine, but you owe me.”

“Ta, mate!”

The climb to the crow’s nest went fairly well, considering it was his first time making the actual climb. He was slower than most of the riggers were though, carefully choosing what rope to grab onto and where to place his feet. By the time he finally hoisted himself into the nest, he was panting a little from exertion, and the muscles in his arms burned a little.

But when he opened his eyes, he was met with perhaps the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

The foremast was at the front of the ship, and if he looked ahead of him, all he could see was the ocean and the night sky, which was clearer than he had ever seen it before.

This high up, he almost felt as if he could touch the stars themselves. And with the gentle rocking of the ship and the cold breeze on his skin, it almost felt as if he was soaring through the sky, instead of sailing.

After what must have been at least an hour, Alfred finally looked down at the decks again. The distance between himself and the quarter deck startled him for a second, not having expected it to have been that big.

Eventually his eyes ended at the steering wheel, and he nearly yelped and hid when he looked straight at Arthur Kirkland. The captain was looking upward with a barely visible frown, probably confused as to why Alfred was up there instead of the rigger on duty.

What happened next, caught him off guard. Arthur apparently told Leon, who was next to him, to take over and then headed straight towards the foremast. Alfred watched with curious amazement as the smaller blonde proceeded to swiftly climb up the ladder-like ratlines, ascending at least twice as fast as Alfred had done.

He quickly stepped back just when Arthur elegantly swung himself over the railing and into the crow’s nest. 

“I’m surprised to see you up here, Jones.” Arthur said then, obviously asking him what the hell he was doing here. Alfred smiled sheepishly, explaining the rigger with the limp and his request. Arthur’s expression soured, before he rolled his eyes, and Alfred had the distinct feeling that he’d been had. “Hopefully this will be a lesson on gullibility.”

Alfred couldn’t help a small huff of laughter. “Yeah. But I don’t see why he doesn’t wanna be up here though.”

“Oh?” Arthur asked then, turning to look at the same view Alfred had been admiring earlier.

“It’s amazing, being this high up. It’s so silent, and there’s so much ocean and sky. It’s almost as if I’m – “

“Flying?” Arthur finished then, and Alfred wasn’t even annoyed at being interrupted. Instead he simply felt excited that they shared the same sentiment.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s feels like flying.”

He leaned against the railing again, a little less hesitant about being so close to the captain of the ship then. When he turned to look, he saw that Arthur had closed his eyes, and his expression was absolutely relaxed as he apparently enjoyed the breeze of the night sky. Alfred couldn’t remember ever seeing his captain this serene, and if he were honest, he was a little mesmerized.

Unconsciously he allowed his eyes to trail the curves and lines of Arthur’s face, identifying the slight splash of freckles on his cheeks and nose and noticing the small, pierced rings in his ear. His eyes trailed lower and he spotted something odd low on the man’s neck – black ink, he realized. 

When he looked back up, he looked straight into Arthur’s eyes, and he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment at being caught staring. However, Arthur simply looked amused, not offended.

“Did you know that some people believe Davy Jones was a devil or god of the seas?” Arthur mused then, looking back at the ocean. “You share his last name.”

“Not his godliness, unfortunately.”

Arthur smirked, and Alfred smiled in return, weirdly pleased with himself. “Have you ever crossed the Celtic sea before?”

“I never crossed any sea, actually. Never left my hometown until now.” He answered honestly.

“Interesting.” Was all Arthur said in return, and Alfred had no idea what he meant with that, but decided not to ask for any clarification.

However, for some unknown reason, he also did not want this to be the end of their interaction. It was the first time he talked with Arthur privately since their parley, and there was still so much Alfred wanted to know about the man.

“Forgive me for asking,” He dared, spurred on when Arthur didn’t look bothered. “but you speak quite well for a pirate.”

“I’m quite fond of our language, actually.” He said surprisingly honest. “But if that raises any questions; I assure you I do not care about their politics or constitution.”

“Ha! Yeah, me neither.” Alfred said with a huff of laughter, silencing down to a sheepish grin when Arthur narrowed his eyes at him for a brief second.

“I must say I’m surprised at how well you’re adapting.” Arthur said, changing the subject without further ado. “Considering where you are from.”

Even though it wasn’t exactly phrased as a compliment, Alfred still felt pride swell in his chest. James offhandedly mentioned the same thing to him a few days earlier, claiming that he was pleasantly surprised at his lack of complaining and his quick learning.

“You play the cards you’re dealt, right?” He said jokingly, feeling himself relax a little. “And I’ve always been an adventurous type. Perhaps I’ll even turn out to be the hero of this adventure!”

“The hero?” Arthur repeated, and Alfred cringed lightly with embarrassment when he realized he let such a childlike statement slip. “How old are you, exactly?”

“Uh, twenty-one in a month, sir.” He answered honestly, trying not to fidget and get defensive.

Arthur nodded once before briefly looking him up and down again, something Alfred noticed the shorter blonde had a habit of doing. Perhaps he was looking for potential weaknesses.

He wondered how old Arthur was. He didn’t look very old; Alfred would wager he was somewhere in his mid-twenties. And yet, with the way Arthur carried himself, and with how effortlessly he demanded respect and even fear, Alfred would think he was a thoroughly seasoned pirate.

He furrowed his brows when he noticed the corners of Arthur’s lips twitch upwards, and realized they’d silently been staring at each other for the better part of the past minute while he’d been lost in thought again.

He tapped the railings with his fingers, feeling a little uncomfortable – for some reason, whenever presented with the opportunity, Alfred could not drag his eyes away from the pirate captain. Arthur was just so incredibly fascinating, and Alfred was a curious man by nature. It bothered him that he knew so little of someone so well-known (relatively speaking).

He was also constantly captivated by the unnatural green color of Arthur’s eyes. They reminded him of an empty wine bottle glittering in the sun, or perhaps even, fittingly enough, an emerald. 

Something must be wrong with him, because Alfred knew he shouldn’t feel so drawn to the dangerous man in front of him.

He quickly cleared his throat and averted his eyes back to the ocean, hoping his face didn't betray his thoughts. He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him even though he couldn’t see them, and eventually Arthur turned away from him again as well.

“You’ll be allowed to roam around, after we dock.” Arthur said, catching him off guard. “I’m sure I do not have to warn you about what will happen, should you try to flee.”

Alfred’s been told that A Coruña would be swarmed with pirates, and he had no doubt that Arthur would know of his every move. Weirdly enough, the idea of fleeing hadn’t even crossed his mind, and he realized he didn’t particularly want to flee, anyway.

Besides, what could A Coruña possibly have to offer him? If anything, Alfred would at least wait until they reached the colonies.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

Arthur seemed satisfied with his answer, and without offering a proper goodbye, climbed back over the railings and descended down the ratlines again. Alfred refused to stare at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon around him, ignoring the odd feeling that was slowly manifesting inside of him.

* * *

Alfred was sure that the childlike excitement was radiating from him in waves, but he couldn’t help it. A Coruña was not like anything he had ever seen before. Then again, Alfred had only ever been in his hometown.

He ignored Ralph’s teasing and let his eyes rove over the docks – it was bustling with people that were loudly shouting in a language he couldn’t understand; Spanish, he was told.

He noticed quite a few other pirate ships, none of them bothering to change their flags and conceal their true identity. He wondered if Arthur knew any of them – and just as the thought crossed his mind, the man himself appeared next to him. Alfred, who’d been leaning over the taffrail, immediately straightened to maintain some air of professionalism.

Arthur ignored him, however, seemingly scanning the harbor for something. Judging his sudden scowl, Alfred guessed he found it. He followed his line of sight and eventually landed on a large galleon. It’s dark wood gleamed red in the sunlight, and on one of the masts hung a Jolly Roger.

“Someone you know?” Alfred tentatively asked, unable to conceal his curiosity.

“Unfortunately.” Arthur answered, yet the sneer in his voice didn’t quite match the stormy expression on his face.

“ _Buenos días_ , Arthur!” Someone suddenly shouted loudly from the docks, capturing their attention as well as the attention of several other crew-members who were finishing up the docking process. It was easy to spot the owner of the voice – on the docks stood a tanned, brown-haired man. He wore a dark red coat adorned with golden linings, and a cocked hat adorned with many feathers.

Alfred instantly realized his attire reminded him of Arthur’s, which meant that he was probably looking at another pirate captain. Apparently all captains dressed flamboyantly.

The man smiled pleasantly up at them, though he seemed focused on Arthur only. "¿ _Cómo estás_? It’s been a while!"

Arthur made a sound of disgust and made a crude gesture, causing the Spanish man to laugh loudly. He was then joined by a shorter, younger-looking man, also with brown hair. The Spanish captain threw his arm around the man, ignoring the way his companion sputtered and protested, before dragging him back to the galleon Arthur had been glaring at earlier.

When he looked back to his side, he realized Arthur had left him again, surprised by how silently the pirate captain was able to move. On his other side, Ralph snorted, and Alfred realized with a start that he’d completely forgotten about the man’s presence due to Arthur and the strange, Spanish captain.

“That was Antonio Carriedo, captain of the Scarlet Fiesta. We’re kinda in bad waters with ‘im. I think.” Ralph explained unhelpfully, nodding towards the galleon in question.

“You think?”

“Aye, I’m never sure. Cap’n seems to dislike him, but they come together when possible anyway.” Ralph said, as if that made more sense. “Try not to mingle with his crew.”

Alfred nodded absentmindedly, having already decided to steer clear from any unknown pirate anyway. Perhaps it was a rivalry thing, then. He wondered if pirate captains formed alliances among themselves.

“Any other pirate captains I should know of?”

“Care killed the cat.”

Both Ralph and Alfred startled when Arthur suddenly reappeared behind them, and they whirled around to meet Arthur’s unimpressed, flat glare. Yao stood next to him this time, his seemingly ever present exasperated expression in place.

“Still got eight lives left, then.” Alfred replied, surprised at his own cheekiness. Ralph gawked at him, but instead of getting angry, Arthur regarded him impassively.

Then the corner of his lips tugged upwards ever so slightly, and while it could’ve been with malicious intent, Alfred liked to imagine he’d humored him.

“Don’t cause any trouble.” Arthur said then, and both Ralph and Alfred nodded, though silently Alfred wondered if the words trouble and pirates weren’t intimately intertwined.

* * *

Alfred quickly learned that shore leaves were mostly spent in taverns or in whore houses, though he did not stray near that latter one himself. He followed Ralph around the first two days, since the pirate at least seemed to know his way around town, and because Alfred didn’t want to risk getting lost himself.

By the third day, he’d grown tired of the excessive drinking, the gambling and the arguing. He decided to stay back for once, weighing his options. He had no means to buy himself anything, and nothing but his fists and a dagger to defend himself, so venturing into town alone might not be the smartest idea.

Eventually he decided to simply wander the docks, staying away from groups of people and merely admiring the docked ships from afar. Most of the ships were frigates, brigantines or schooners, but there were also a few galleons and even a Man-o-War.

Making sure the Emerald Dragon was always within his line of sight, Alfred wandered up and down the harbor. 

He couldn’t help but slow his gait when he passed the dark red galleon that Arthur had glared at, though. A few sailors loitered around its plank and on its decks, but none of them paid Alfred any attention, so he allowed himself to study the ship briefly.

It was larger than the Emerald Dragon, but that would probably also make it slower and less agile. He wondered how it looked below decks, and how many people and cannons it could house.

 _“Bastardo di pomodoro! Come osi mentire a me? Porca miseria!"_ Alfred frowned and turned around to see someone heading his way, the man fussing and pulling at his brown hair while angrily rambling.

He looked vaguely familiar, and it wasn’t until their eyes met that Alfred realized it was the man he saw with captain Carriedo a few days earlier. “ _Cosa stai guardando a_?”

“Uh,” Alfred began, resisting the urge to raise his hands in defense. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

The man frowned irritably and immediately switched to English, continuing with a thick accent. “It was Italian, _idiota_. What are you standing around here for, eh?”

Alfred was still struggling to come up with a good excuse when the man’s brown eyes widened in recognition.

“You belong to the English bastard, don’t you?”

He didn’t quite like the way that was phrased, but he supposed that ‘belonging to the English bastard’ could work in his favor – after all, perhaps it offered him some protection. 

“Yeah.” He settled on saying, opting to go for nonchalant. “You’re with Carriedo, right?”

The man grimaced and groaned. “Ugh, unfortunately, that _testa di merda_.”

Obviously, he didn’t like his captain very much, and Alfred wondered if the man sailed with him out of his own volition or not.

“Alfred Jones.” He decided on saying, sticking out a hand. He knew Ralph told him to not mingle with Carriedo’s crew, but then again, he’s often been told he was too curious for his own good.

The brunette’s frown instantly dissolved into something surprised, staring down at his outstretched hand with apprehension. Just when Alfred wanted to retract his hand, the man raised his own to shake it, firmly but briefly.

“Lovino Vargas.” He replied, albeit hesitantly.

Alfred smiled brightly, kind of excited that he’d managed to make an acquaintance of someone not belonging to his own crew. 

“Do you know if Kirkland met with Beilschmidt yet?” Lovino asked then, a bit tentative.

Alfred hadn’t even heard of the name Beilschmidt before, and he filed the name away in his memory so that he could interrogate someone about it later.

“I have no idea. Why?”

Lovino scowled, looking back at the galleon behind Alfred. “None of your business.” He snapped, but it didn’t sound particularly hostile. “Look, could you tell me if he did?”

Alfred’s curiosity was immensely piqued – who on earth was this Beilschmidt, and what did he have to do with both Arthur and Carriedo’s crew? “Why would I do that?”

“Just because!” Lovino exclaimed then, sounding exasperated. “I need to see him, and my _capitano_ won’t tell me, so you need to tell me if you know where he is. _Capiche_?”

Alfred realized the shorter brunette looked a little desperate. Despite having absolutely no clue what this was about, he sort of sympathized with the other. Obviously whatever he was looking for meant a great deal to him.

When he eventually sighed and shrugged, Alfred decided to blame it on his hero complex. “Look mate, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

Lovino scowled, as if not entirely pleased with his answer but knowing it was the best one he was going to get. Then he suddenly froze, his scowl shifting into something contrite, as if he were a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Lovi, _mi amor_!” Alfred froze too, vaguely recognizing that voice and sincerely hoping it was not who he thought it was.

“It’s Lovino, _bastardo_!” Lovino cursed, and if Alfred hadn’t been intimidated by the sudden presence of the Spanish pirate captain, he would’ve been surprised at how Lovino spoke to his captain.

Antonio looked at Alfred with curiosity, and he really hoped that he didn’t recognize him. Earlier, he had only seemed to look at Arthur, so there was a chance that he didn’t remember Alfred at all.

He debated simply walking away, but when Antonio addressed Lovino in either Spanish or Italian (how was Alfred supposed to know?) he realized he was asking about him.

He locked eyes with Lovino and hoped he wasn’t about to sell him out, despite not knowing if it would have any negative consequence. Perhaps nothing would happen at all, and perhaps the Spaniard would simply be mildly annoyed.

Lovino muttered something in return, and Antonio shrugged in response, shouldering past Alfred to grab Lovino by the elbow. The brunette sneered and tried to shake him off, but didn’t resist much when Antonio guided him back to the ship, both of them not sparing Alfred another glance.

He exhaled harshly, feeling the tension leave his shoulders again, and quickly turned to head back to the Emerald Dragon.

* * *

On their last day in A Coruña, Alfred decided to join his crew in the tavern once more, deciding he might as well socialize and enjoy the slightly better tasting booze he could swindle from them before they headed out again.

He hadn’t heard about any run-ins with someone named Beilschmidt yet, unfortunately. When he asked Ralph about it, he’d only been told it was another pirate captain Arthur knew. He had assumed that much himself, but he couldn’t risk sounding suspicious, so he hadn’t prodded for more information.

The table he and some mates were gathered around shook and their ales spilled a little when one of the men slammed his fists down onto it, animatedly telling a story. The others were groaning and rolling their eyes, and Alfred assumed that the story being spun was either fabricated or overly exaggerated.

“So there I was, surrounded by these bluddy natives, yellin’ and rollin’ their tongues at me. They captur’d me and tied me to a barrel before droppin’ me into the sea! And I would’ve drowned, I tell ya, had it not be fer – “

“Bloody sea turtles, yes Tim, we know. Yer such a phony! There’s no sea turtles in the Narrow Sea!”

“Shut yer trap, sea turtles live in every ocean! They bit through the ropes tha tied me down, look, I still got tha scars!”

"A big lie, Tim! Yer full o’ shit!"

The group dissolved into laughter and Alfred joined halfheartedly, though he hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to the playful banter. No, he was distracted, and the reason for that was, as usual, Arthur Kirkland.

The captain had been sitting in a booth in a corner of the tavern the entire night, quietly talking with Yao and James. Every now and then he grinned or smirked, and every so often he glanced around the tavern as if keeping a watchful eye on his crew. On more than one occasion, their eyes met, but Arthur didn’t give any inclination that he was bothered by Alfred’s staring.

"What about ye, Jones? Tell us about yer homey life!"

Alfred looked back at his company, quickly shaking his head. “Nah, my life was boring. I got nothing to tell y’all.”

“Nonsense!” Ralph jeered, elbowing him in the side and making him spill some more of his ale. At this rate, its contents were going to end up on the floor and not in his stomach. “Everyone has stories, don’t be shy!”

The truth was that every story he could potentially tell would only remind him of his family, and the thought alone left a sour taste in his mouth, so Alfred shook his head again. Fortunately the group was distracted when a busty barmaid approached them to offer them a refill, and his eyes inadvertently trailed back to the booth he'd been staring at before.

To his surprise, Yao and James had exited it. Yao left the tavern altogether and James joined another group nearby the bar, leaving Arthur alone. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, and he was probably spurred on by the small amount of alcohol in his system, but before Alfred knew it, he was on his feet and approaching the booth.

Arthur eyed him with a slight upward quirk to his lips, which probably meant he wasn’t about to be sent away. He slid into the opposite bench and sent Arthur what he hoped was a charming smile.

“Enjoying yourself, sir?” He asked politely, and Arthur inclined his head towards him.

“I am surrounded with drunken fools and whoring wenches – pray tell me, what is there to enjoy?” Arthur countered dryly, prompting a huff of laughter out of Alfred.

“Aw, it's not that bad.” He tried, encouraged by the amused glint in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur raised his own mug, keeping his eyes fixed on Alfred’s over the rim while he took a sip and swallowed. The intensity of it made Alfred want to avert his own eyes and fidget, but he refused, and instead rested both elbows on the table casually.

“Tell me Jones,” Arthur mused then, as he put his mug down on the table. “How are your legs?”

 _Oh_ , that was just mean.

After they docked, and Alfred had left the ship, he had immediately tripped over his own feet. After having spent weeks on a rocking ship, his legs had briefly forgotten how to function on the stationary surface called land, and he had face-planted right in front of the crew, much to their amusement.

“Ha ha.” Alfred said. "I suppose it’s never happened to you, then? Any tips or tricks?”

“Once or twice, over a decade ago.” Arthur admitted, though it still felt as if he were making fun of Alfred. “As for tricks; try not to land on your face next time. It’s arguably one of your better assets.”

The sudden compliment both surprised and embarrassed him a little, but despite that Alfred still snorted.

“Looking at the rest of the crew, I reckon that’s not much of an achievement.” He eventually joked, pleased when the smirk on Arthur’s face was replaced with a slightly more sincere grin.

He was aware he was somewhat smiling stupidly himself, but he couldn’t help it – their playful banter made him feel light and giddy, considering this was _Arthur fucking Kirkland_ he was trading barbs with.

The mood was abruptly disturbed when a man, donned in a mint-green coat and a lot of ruffles, suddenly threw himself onto Arthur’s bench, latching onto the surprised captain’s side.

“ _Mon cher_! I knew I would find you here!” A heavily accented voice exclaimed, and Alfred could only stare with surprise when Arthur, uncharacteristically enough, reacted with only a scowl and a halfhearted elbow in the man’s side. “Don’t act so coy, _mon coeur_ – oh? Who is this?”

The man had obviously only then noticed Alfred’s presence, and turned sideways to regard him.

Alfred figured this was another pirate captain, mainly because of his attire and because he wasn’t sure if a normal person could be so familiar with Arthur without losing a limb.

Before either Alfred or Arthur had the chance to answer him, the man was already leaning forward on the table, blue eyes roving over him curiously.

“ _Enchanté,_ I am Francis Bonnefoy.” He suddenly purred, holding out a gloved hand. Alfred wasn’t sure if he should take it, but he did so anyway, glad when the man only shook it once. “Captain of _La Liberté_.”

Alfred felt dread wash over him for a second – that name was also very familiar. Another infamous pirate ship, one that frequently caused all kinds of trouble on the oceans. He managed to keep his expression neutral, cleverly avoiding Arthur’s searching eyes.

“Alfred Jones.” 

“Our newest addition.” Arthur then added, eyes still on Alfred.

“Ah, the stowaway, _oui_?” Alfred tilted his head, surprised that apparently Francis already knew of how he had joined the Emerald Dragon.

Francis said something then in that foreign language of his, and all Alfred knew was that it did not sound like Spanish or Italian. Arthur’s eyes abruptly left Alfred as the silky words left Francis’ lips, glaring sideways and sneering something in the same language, surprising Alfred; somehow he had not thought of the possibility of Arthur speaking more than one language.

The other captain chuckled lowly, and leaned back into Arthur’s space again. Alfred felt weirdly irked at how he was draped against Arthur’s side, and at how Arthur let him, and he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because it was such a rare, unexpected phenomenon.

He was also starting to feel a little out of place, as if he wasn’t actually meant to be here. Arthur had most likely been waiting for this fellow before Alfred had approached him, yet nothing about the way Arthur occasionally eyed him told him that he wasn’t welcome.

Just as he was about to announce his departure anyway, the doors to the tavern slammed open loudly, followed by a chorus of cheers and shouts.

Alfred turned to discover what the sudden chaos was about, frowning when his eyes landed on what had to be _another_ pirate captain, if his rich blue coat and extravagantly decorated hat was anything to go by.

But what was perhaps most distracting was the man’s shockingly white hair. The man had an arm around a stoic looking, dark-haired man with spectacles, who promptly left his side to walk over to the bar once the doors shut behind them.

“Now would be the time to leave, Jones.” Arthur suddenly said, and Alfred turned to look at his captain.

Arthur didn’t look particularly annoyed, but his tone suggested he would not tolerate any backtalk, so Alfred simply nodded and slunk out of the bench. By the time he was on his feet, the white-haired man had arrived at the booth, completely ignoring Alfred and grinning widely at the other two captains.

“What are you pansies drinking?”

“Beilschmidt.” Arthur answered curtly, exasperation laced in his voice.

Alfred's eyes widened at hearing the name, and Arthur definitely noticed if the glare in his eyes was anything to go by.

Without another word, he turned around and rushed back to the table he had been sitting before, knowing that if he fled the tavern all of a sudden it would make him suspicious. He purposefully avoided Arthur’s gaze then, forcibly reentering the drunken banter of his fellow crew-mates.

Only when he was sure Arthur’s attention was on the company at his table, did Alfred plan his departure. He waited for the men to erupt into a spontaneous shanty, as they were wont to do when drunk, and then promptly slid out of his chair and out of the tavern.

He felt a little high-strung with anticipation as he sought out the Spanish galleon, and couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted Lovino on the docks in front of it, obviously about to head back inside. Lovino spotted him in return and immediately halted, a somewhat hopeful expression on his face.

Alfred had no idea if anyone was watching, so he opted to simply brush past Lovino, muttering the name of the tavern he came from under his breath. He knew Lovino heard him when the Italian abruptly turned away from the ship and headed in the direction Alfred came from.

With his mission succeeded, Alfred rushed back towards the Emerald Dragon, deciding he had quite enough of this town.

* * *

Whatever Lovino had meant to do with the information Alfred had given him, he had apparently succeeded. The morning after he approached Alfred, who had been moving crates of supplies from the docks onto the ship. They’d set sail in just under an hour, and he was one of the few men without a hangover, meaning he had twice the work to do.

“Lovino? What’s up?” He asked curiously, lowering the crate in his arms a bit so that he could properly look at the brunette.

"I wanted to… you know." Lovino scowled when Alfred cocked his head, purposefully playing dumb. " _Bastardo inglese_ … I just came to say - ugh, _gr_ _azie mille_! There!"

"Please, you know I don't understand Italian." He knew what it meant anyway and when Lovino glared at him, he smiled playfully.

Then he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It felt as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t, and it reminded him of the time his father caught him and Matthew playing with his hunting gun in the shed. Lovino scoffed something in Italian, and then all of a sudden, Antonio Carriedo appeared.

The Spanish captain did not look amused, and this time, Alfred had his full attention. Alfred froze, torn between wanting to stay to see what would happen, and dropping the crate in his arms to make a run for it.

Antonio made the decision for him, however, when he shoved Lovino behind him and then roughly pushed Alfred, causing him to stumble backwards. He tripped and plummeted to the ground, simultaneously losing his grip on the crate in his arms. It crashed to the ground, but did not break or spill any of its contents. 

He tensed when Antonio immediately advanced on him, but before he could scramble to his feet, a loud whistle drew their attention. Alfred glanced sideways to see Arthur walk down the plank connecting the Emerald Dragon to the docks, expression unreadable.

“Is there a problem?” Arthur asked coolly, stopping when he stood in front of Alfred, who quickly pushed himself off the ground now that he probably wasn’t going to get randomly murdered by the other captain.

“Your stowaway is the problem.” Antonio replied in an equally cool tone, and Alfred frowned; did every pirate in this town know he was originally a stowaway, then?

“Your brach asked for his help.” Arthur said, not skipping a single beat. At that, Antonio frowned lightly, and Lovino paled considerably.

"Lovi, _regreso al barco_." Antonio then snapped, not bothering to turn and look at the man in question.

Lovino’s lips curled into an angry sneer, but was interrupted before he could object.

"Now, Lovino!" Antonio barked, and Lovino scowled once more at Arthur and Alfred, before turning around and hurrying back to the Scarlet Fiesta.

“Anything else?” Arthur inquired, glaring up at Antonio as if to say he expected a negative answer.

Alfred felt tense as he watched their interaction – Antonio was about the same height as Alfred, meaning that Arthur was smaller than them both.

That didn’t stop Arthur from leveling Antonio with a deadly glare, however, and Alfred wondered if he would ever discover what their deal was.

“Where are you headed?” Antonio asked, voice still sounding a little annoyed but his posture relaxing. In turn, Arthur’s posture relaxed as well, though his eyes remained wary.

“São Paula de Loanda.”

“Beautiful place this time of year. Perhaps we will meet again in the Americas.” Antonio said, and Arthur hummed noncommittally. Then the Spanish captain’s eyes flit back towards Alfred, an obvious warning within them. “Stay away from my crew, _cabrón_.”

Just as Alfred wanted to nod and reassure him he would never go near him or his crew again, Arthur chuckled and took a step backwards, his back softly colliding with Alfred’s chest. For some reason the gesture seemed both possessive and protective, and Alfred wished he knew why he felt odd about that.

“Farewell, Antonio.”

The hostility in Antonio’s eyes dissolved again when he regarded Arthur once more, a lopsided smile appearing on his face.

“ _Adiós, mi amigo_.” He said, sparing Alfred one more unreadable glance before turning around and heading back to his own ship.

Arthur waited until Antonio was a fair distance away before turning back around, glaring at the men loitering around them.

“Show’s over, men.” He announced, and just like that, everyone jumped back into action, continuing their work. Arthur took a step back from Alfred to appraise him warily. “My quarters, Jones.”

Alfred resisted the urge to gulp, knowing he was most likely in some kind of trouble. He didn’t know how Arthur had known he had helped the Italian, but he did, and he probably shouldn’t have. Dutifully he followed Arthur back onto the ship and into his quarters, knowing to keep his mouth shut for now. 

He watched as Arthur moved towards his desk. Along the way he removed his cocked hat, tossing it onto a side table carelessly and running a hand through his hair. He turned when he reached his desk, and leaned down against it, somewhat sitting down on top of it. 

Alfred tried not to stare at how Arthur’s messy hair framed his face without his signature hat.

“Now would be the time to explain yourself, Jones.”

 _Right_.

“Uh, I ran into Lovino when I was walking around the docks. When he recognized me as one of yours, he asked me if I’ve seen a guy named Beilschmidt. I figured there would be no harm…”

“Did you know why he wanted to see him?” Arthur interrupted then, and Alfred shook his head, realizing that might’ve been a little gullible on his part. Then again, Lovino hadn’t seemed keen on telling him.

Surprisingly enough, Arthur didn’t sneer, glare or scowl. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again, as if dealing with a headache. He straightened and walked around the desk to sit down on his chair, waving his hand at the one opposite of him. Alfred headed over to it and sat down as well, relieved that he didn’t seem to be in big trouble.

“You’re not very discreet.” Arthur said, eyeing him exasperatedly. “Lovino Vargas has a twin brother, who sails with Gilbert Beilschmidt’s crew.”

Alfred’s eyebrows raised out of their own volition, and for a brief second, he thought of his own brothers. “And he wasn’t supposed to meet with him? Why not?”

“A few years ago, Antonio and Gilbert successfully attacked an Italian merchant fleet. Among the bounty they claimed, were the Vargas brothers. One went with Antonio, one went with Gilbert.” He explained, and Alfred was starting to feel a little angry on their behalf.

“That sounds unnecessarily cruel.” He voiced, wondering if Arthur had ever done something like that, had ever taken people as a _bounty_. 

“It would’ve been more cruel to sell either of them to a slaver.” Arthur countered, and Alfred grimaced, not having thought about that possibility at all. “They cross paths often enough. However, Antonio does not like not knowing where his pet is.”

“Pet?” Alfred repeated, remembering how familiar the Spanish captain had been with the Italian brunette.

Arthur simply stared at him for a second or two, before a grin tugged at his lips.

“Antonio is quite enamored with his little Italian. They are, frankly said, fucking.”

Alfred’s mind blanked, before working overtime to process this information. Antonio and Lovino were both men, weren’t they? Alfred knew about sodomy of course, but he’d only ever heard about it during sermons, or read about people who were sentenced to death because of it.

He’d never really given it much thought, but he’d always found it a little strange. Why would such a thing be a crime punishable with death, anyway? What did it even matter what people did in the privacy of their bedrooms, as long as it happened consensually?

Apparently he appeared quite flabbergasted, because Arthur huffed with mirthful laughter.

“It can get quite lonely at sea on a ship full of men. Pirates don’t care much for the laws set by people on land.” He continued, and if Alfred didn’t know any better, he’d say Arthur was leering at him with amused satisfaction, obviously enjoying his ignorant surprise.

Alfred wasn’t sure what to think, but was only worried about one thing. “Is – is Lovino…”

Arthur seemed to understand what he wanted to ask, judging by the sudden scowl on his face. “That Spanish dog is many things, but he is not a rapist. His affections are reciprocated, despite what Vargas’ attitude might suggest.”

“Oh. All right.” Alfred mumbled, feeling relieved again. He wouldn’t know what he would’ve done if their relationship hadn’t been consensual, should he ever meet Lovino again. He didn’t really know him of course, but he seemed like an all right man, after all.

“You are not disgusted?” Arthur asked then, his voice neutral, but Alfred swore he could hear some surprise.

He smiled sheepishly in return, shrugging. "Nah. I mean, who am I to judge what people get up to in private, right?”

Arthur didn’t reply or nod or hum his agreement, but he did appraise Alfred thoughtfully, emerald eyes burning into his own. For some reason, it didn’t make Alfred anxious or antsy. The scrutiny did make his insides curl nervously, but not unpleasantly, and he wondered if he felt hot due to the climate they were in or due to the conversation they were having.

Without further ado, his mind suddenly assaulted him with the visual idea of Arthur engaging in such activities. He knew he should’ve been disturbed, but instead he was curious, and slightly irritated at the idea of Arthur allowing another man to do such things to him.

It just didn’t seem right, for some reason. He also speculated that Arthur would absolutely gut him, were he to find out what Alfred was thinking about currently, and he should probably stop thinking about it lest his expression suddenly betray him.

“You’re dismissed, Jones.” Arthur then said, voice indicating it was not up to debate.

“Yes, sir.” He quickly said, getting back to his feet. He spared Arthur one more thoughtful glance before turning around and getting the hell out of there, knowing he’d have his hands full with all the new information he just gained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Introducing the Emerald Dragon’s crew:** Yao is China, Leon is Hong Kong, James is (male) Seychelles and Ralph is Australia.  
>  **The Emerald Dragon:** I settled on the Emerald Dragon being a fourth-rate frigate: a vessel known for its speed and maneuverability, carrying about 50 guns on a single gun deck. For the sake of the story, it’s also a shallow-draft ship, meaning it could hide in shallow waters to escape larger ships.  
>  **“Care killed the cat”:** Curiosity killed the cat hadn't been used up until 1873 in James Allan Mair's compendium. Care killed the cat was the original proverb, and was first used in a play by Ben Johnson in 1598.  
>  **Cocked hat:** A cocked hat is a tricorn hat, but the name tricorn hat wasn't used until mid-19th century.  
>  **Sodomy in the 1700s:** In England, Henry VIII introduced the Buggery Act of 1533, making sodomy (which included anal sex, oral sex and bestiality) punishable by hanging. This penalty wasn’t lifted in England until 1861. However, sodomy was often hard to prove, so lots of offenses were charged as ‘assault with sodomitical intent’, which was not actually a capital offense and thus did not always lead to a death sentence.  
>  **Fun fact - Matelotage:** A partnership between pirates that could be economical, fraternal, romantic or sexual. It was kind of like marriage, and even ensured a pirate’s will would be transferred to his ‘widow’ when he died.
> 
>  **Translations (but correct me if I'm wrong, please!):**  
>  \- “Bastardo di pomodoro! Come osi mentire a me? Porca miseria!” – “Tomato bastard! How dare you lie to me? Dammit!”  
> \- “Cosa stai guardando a?” – “What are you looking at?”  
> \- “Regreso al barco” – "Return to the ship"


	3. West of Africa, July 1711

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed with the positive comments you guys have been leaving on this story! I'm so glad to know some of you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it :) 
> 
> Please note: The time it takes for a pirate ship to travel from A to B in the 18th century is absolutely beyond me… I’ve never been good at math, lol, so my estimations are rough at best!
> 
> **Warning: (implied) minor character death. Very minor though - I introduce the bloke and then I get rid of him. Also, there's a battle, so some descriptions of violence/death.**

After two weeks at sea, and without a proper way of knowing what day it was exactly, Alfred had almost forgotten about his own birthday. James had not, however, and Alfred supposed he was a little touched that the first mate had actually remembered.

He wouldn’t have minded skipping his birthday altogether. After all, it was odd to celebrate it without his family. He was slowly learning how to cope with the random bouts of guilt and homesickness, but this was the first birthday he ever had, that he was away from home.

The realization that he would probably never celebrate a birthday – not his own, not Mattie’s, not Albert’s – with his family again, led to him feeling even worse. Had it not been for some of his crew mates, he most likely would have sulked all day.

Instead the deck crew alternated sea shanties with birthday songs all day, and by the time evening fell, he was grinning again, sitting on the upper decks with his mates while drinking grog and talking shop.

“Happy birthday, mate.” Ralph said as he slapped him on his back, causing Alfred to spill some of his rum.

He grunted his thanks, glaring at the liquid seeping along the deck now, and took another sip. He wasn’t overly fond of the taste of rum, but the ale had gone bad a few days ago and the water was starting to taste old, so they had to mix it with rum to make it drinkable.

“Too bad we ain’t on land!” One of the riggers jeered. “We shul’de gotten ‘im laid!”

The group dispersed into laughter and agreements, some of them laughing even harder when Alfred’s face turned bright red.

“Aww! Our landlubber ain’t been deflowered yet!”

“Shut the hell up.” Alfred sneered, growing more embarrassed when he had everyone’s full, am used attention.

“But yer twenty-one now! I remember me first, I was but fifteen years of age…” Some others voiced their similarities, while other at least had the balls to admit they’d been older than that. Alfred shrugged, refusing to make this a big deal.

“Y’all saw where I grew up.” He scoffed. “I simply never saw the appeal.”

His brutally honest answer was met with brutally mocking laughter, and he felt his cheeks burn again, but he refused to look anything but annoyed.

“Well, now that yer a pirate, perhaps ye will find this appeal, eh? If not with a lassie, maybe with a laddie!”

“You’re all a bunch of no good drunkards.” Alfred grumbled, taking a few more large sips from his bottle to somewhat hide his burning face. The insult was met with cheers and the men around him clanked their bottles together, drinking to his statement joyfully.

Alfred was glad that they started bantering among themselves again then, because the suggestive words had caused him to get lost in thought again. He’d been unintentionally thinking about it more often than he’d like, ever since Arthur told him about the nature of captain Antonio’s and Lovino’s relationship.

He couldn’t help but suddenly ponder _why_ he’d never been attracted to women before. Objectively speaking, he could think of a few girls he once met that were pretty or even attractive, such as his former fiancée Alice.

And yet, he’d never actually had any romantic or sexual feelings for a woman, nor did he ever actually fantasize about one while taking care of himself. And he certainly never had any thoughts similar to what his idiot crew mates confessed to having while drunk or sober.

He’d always figured it would happen one day sooner or later, and he had even been at peace with the idea it’d never happen at all. But now that he knew there was _another_ option, he was conflicted.

Because he could not explain the weird, but not unpleasant feeling coiling in his gut whenever Arthur was nearby. He didn't know why he felt his temperature rise whenever he felt Arthur's eyes on him, and he could not explain why his heart skipped a beat every time his eyes involuntarily sought out Arthur, only to discover Arthur had been studying him too. 

He didn't know why he was mesmerized by the sight of a barely awake Arthur in the early morning, or why he sometimes forgot what he was doing when he saw or heard Arthur laugh. 

What made it worse, and God forbid him for even thinking this, was that Arthur wasn't that bad to look at either, considering everyone else on the ship. Alfred never imagined he'd find another man physically attractive, but he couldn't deny that something about Arthur's way of carrying himself was incredibly alluring. And those _eyes_.

To top it off, Arthur wasn't the terrible and mean pirate captain his reputation claimed him to be. He was dangerous, and more often than not had a bad temper, and maybe he could even be a little cruel every now and then, but he was not horrible or bloodthirsty. 

Perhaps Alfred had more in common with Lovino than he had previously thought. Alfred wished he could stop thinking about it altogether - Arthur was a pirate, and a captain, and he would probably keelhaul him if he'd ever find out what Alfred sometimes dreamed about at night. 

“Boys,” a voice said mirthfully, and upon realizing it was the voice of the person he’d been thinking about, Alfred nearly startled so badly he dropped his bottle.

A chorus of ‘captain’ was heard from the crew around Alfred, and he nonchalantly turned around to face the man himself. Arthur was wearing his full get up, as he usually did on deck, and Alfred was again struck with how compelling the sight was. He just looked so _powerful_ , and so at ease. Alfred had an intense desire to see the man without his usual get-up, and imagined he would still look as alluring as he did now.

He also looked at Alfred as if he knew Alfred had been thinking about something untoward before his arrival, and it made Alfred feel a little hot under the collar.

“I heard congratulations are in order, Jones. Twenty-one, was it?”

Alfred cleared his throat, and nodded. “Aye, sir. Thank you.”

Not for the first time since he boarded the ship, he wondered how old Arthur was and how old he had been when he became a pirate. He had a tough time imagining Arthur to be anything but a pirate. 

“Have fun. Keep it civil.” Arthur said, directing his last few words to the entire group and roving his green eyes over them exasperatedly when the men grinned and exclaimed their good intentions.

Alfred wondered how those eyes would look at him if he – _no_ , no, he was _not_ going there, not while he was bloody awake and in control of his own damn thoughts. It was the rum talking, combined with the gutter his mind had been descending into earlier.

Arthur spared him one more intense, unreadable look, before turning and heading over to his quarters, and Alfred wondered what would happen if he followed.

He took another sip from his bottle, forcing his eyes to leave the now closed door to the captain’s quarters. Out of their own volition, they traveled towards the mizzen mast, and he frowned when he saw a rigger and a carpenter quietly conversing nearby it. He couldn’t remember their names, but he had seen them before, and he wondered why they were standing over there in the dark.

If he didn’t know any better, it even looked a little suspicious. Everyone else was either below deck or drinking with the others.

Before he could get dragged into another shanty, gamble or battle of wits, Alfred forced himself up with the excuse that he needed to go relieve himself. Nonchalantly he climbed up the quarter deck, but due to the rum already in his system, he ended up not being as quiet and nonchalant as he meant to be.

The two men conversing near the mizzen mast immediately stopped talking when he showed up, and glared at him.

“What’cha want, Jones?” One of them asked, and Alfred was a little surprised they knew his name. After all, he didn’t know theirs – he imagined it’d take him a while to know _everyone_ on the ship by name, as there had to be at least fifty people on it.

“Why don’t you two come down to drink with us?” He suggested politely, forcing a charming smile on his face and waving the bottle still in his hand. “C’mon, it’s my birthday.”

“Get lost, bucko, before I turn ye into shark bait.”

Alfred frowned, but raised his hands, showing he meant no harm. The men kept glaring at him but left anyway, one of them shoving his shoulder into his own as he passed. Alfred grimaced and quickly righted his footing, turning a little to watch them disappear below deck.

Weird.

* * *

“How is your head, birthday boy?” One of the gunners who was cleaning the swivel gun to his side asked loudly.

“Terrible.” Alfred whined, leaning over the railings and looking down at the waves caused by the ship. He wasn’t nauseous, fortunately, but his head was killing him.

“Ha! You just gotta get used to it. Should be glad we’re not in mermaid territory, or one would’ve snatched ye right up, hanging over the taffrail like that. Gimme that, will ya?”

Alfred sighed and pushed himself away from the railing, handing him the bucket he gestured at. “Mermaids? That’s folklore.”

“Folklore? Tell ya what, Jones, in these here seas there are lots of monsters. Mermaids, hydra, the kraken…”

"And they are all _stories._ " Alfred sighed, and the other man laughed at him. "You ain't scaring me with bedtime stories."

“If ye don’t believe me, go ask the cap’n!”

Alfred furrowed his brows and looked forecastle deck, where Arthur was huddled around a crate with Yao and James. He assumed they were looking at some papers, or perhaps a map, and it was probably not wise to go and interrupt him for something as trivial as mermaids. Arthur would probably laugh in his face, too.

“Maybe later.” He grunted, massaging his temple again when a new flare of headache announced itself. He had enough on his mind as it was, and he didn't need the added suspense of there being actual monsters within the oceans they were sailing on right now. 

“Sail, ho!” One of the riggers on lookout suddenly shouted, voice barely audible over the sounds of the waves and the crew. Alfred frowned and turned to where the rigger was pointing, spotting what he had been referring to: some ways from them sailed two ships, and they seemed to head their way.

A calm seemed to come over the deck, people either watching the ships approaching them or watching the captain, who headed over to the taffrail on the forecastle deck and extracted his handheld telescope from a pocket.

After a few seconds, he abruptly pocketed it again, a stormy expression on his face as he turned and stomped down to the lower deck, Yao and James hot on his tail.

“Fucking privateers.” He heard Arthur sneer as he passed them. “I bloody well hope this is a coincidence. If I find out that Spanish bastard sold me out, I’ll flog him _and_ his Italian dog.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows, whirling around to look back at the approaching ships. Did this mean they were going to be attacked, or were they going to engage them in battle first? There were two of them, and by his calculation, two ships would always have the advantage on one ship. Then again, the Emerald Dragon did not get its reputation by being an easy target.

“Bring a spring upon her!” Arthur barked then. “Don’t let them flank us. We’ll feed them to the bloody fish all right.”

As if on cue, everyone jumped back into action, apparently knowing exactly what to do. Alfred, however, had no idea what to do. And he doubted a swabbie would be actually helpful either.

Then his eyes crossed Arthur’s again, and surprisingly enough, the captain beckoned him with an abrupt nod of his head. He rushed over towards the quarter deck, where Arthur was now standing at the steering wheel, still snapping orders at Yao and James.

“I’ve neither the time nor mood for this. Sink the brigantine, but prepare a boarding party for the frigate. I want to know if this is a coincidence or if they knew where to find us.”

“Do we think someone sold us out? I made sure to lead the Navy astray by feeding them those false documents back in Ireland.” Yao pondered, sounding a hundred times calmer than Alfred felt.

“Could be someone on the ship.” James added.

“Any potential culprits?” Arthur asked, eyeing Alfred as he finally came to a stop next to them. For a second, Alfred was terrified he was going to be blamed; after all, he was the newest addition to the ship.

And then he suddenly remembered something, but he hesitated; he could make a potential suspect out of the two men he had confronted the night before, but if he were wrong, he might accidentally sentence them to an unwarranted death.

“Spit it out, Jones.” Arthur then said, obviously having guessed exactly what was on Alfred’s mind.

“Uh.” He started, still on the fence about it but deciding that Arthur would probably know if he lied. “One of the riggers was whispering to one of the gunners, yesterday. I thought they looked suspicious so I went to ask them what they were on about, but they were hostile and left.”

He halfheartedly explained what they looked like since he couldn’t remember their names, and James nodded thoughtfully, probably knowing who he was talking about.

“All right men, to your stations.” Arthur said, and both Yao and James nodded, abruptly leaving. Alfred tilted his head to look at the approaching ships again, surprised to see they were much closer already. “Have you ever killed a man before, Jones?”

“No, sir.”

Arthur nodded, eyes on the same ships Alfred had been looking at earlier. “Go below deck and help the gunners.”

It was another order that was not up to debate, and despite Alfred always feeling a little rebellious when spoken to like that, this time he simply nodded without any unspoken complaints. Being below deck was probably the safest place for a rookie like him to be, and he’d probably be of more use helping the gunners, too.

“Oh, and Jones? Try not to be a hero.”

He frowned when Arthur smirked at him, and felt a little of the nervous tension in his shoulders dissolve – Arthur didn’t seem anxious about the upcoming encounter, he merely seemed extremely annoyed. While that could’ve been arrogance, Alfred liked to think his confidence came from experience.

“Can’t make any promises, sir.” He decided to joke, and Arthur huffed a breath of laughter and shook his head, before shooing him away with a wave of his hand.

* * *

Once the order was given to start firing, Alfred forced his mind to go blank and to work on instinct, lest he’d get distracted by the sudden chaos. He got assigned to assist a couple of gunners, and worked mindlessly, right up until a cannonball shot through the hull of the deck and took out one of the gunners on Alfred’s far right.

“Fuckin’ navy lapdogs!” Someone cursed, and Alfred made the mistake of looking back, immediately spotting the bloody mess that was once a crew mate.

The poor man had been right in the path of the cannonball, and was missing a good chunk of his abdomen and chest. He was very much dead, too, and Alfred couldn’t help himself – he froze, unable to drag his eyes from the gruesome scenario.

Then he was shoved by the master gunner, Reggie. “Get back to it, lad!” He barked, and Alfred blinked, snapped out of his train of thought as he stumbled back towards the gunners he was helping before.

After what felt like forever, Reggie gave the order to stop their insanely quick firing of cannonballs, something almost only the Emerald Dragon was capable of if he had to believe rumors. Apparently they’d already managed to sink the brigantine, and through the gun ports, he could see that the other frigate was right next to him.

Above them, people shouted and hooted, and he realized that they were probably boarding the other ship now. The gunners he’d been assisting left to go up, and Alfred decided to follow, spurred on by morbid curiosity.

By the time he was back on the deck, their boarding party was already making short work of the attacking frigate’s crew. Unfortunately, because he was so focused on what was happening on the other ship, he neglected to notice that their ship had also been boarded in return.

While the Emerald Dragon’s crew was obviously handling themselves well, Alfred failed to notice one enemy charged at him until it was almost too late. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone swinging their cutlass at him, and he narrowly managed to avoid getting stabbed. However, the blade sliced through his bicep, and he winced and stumbled.

A shot rang out right next to his head and the man who had attacked him slumped to the ground. Alfred whirled around to spot Ralph, grinning widely and slapping him on the back.

“Ye look lost, Jones! Here,” he pushed a pistol into his hand. “Aim for the eyes and squeeze the trigger, easy peasy!”

“Easy- wait – “ But Ralph had already rushed off again, laughing as he threw himself back into the fray.

Alfred hesitated, feeling it would be smarter to go below deck again. Before he could make the decision, another foreign man spotted him. The man sneered at him in a language Alfred didn’t understand and charged at him with a cutlass, and Alfred yelped as he quickly dodged and rolled out of the way, hand tight on his pistol.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just kill a man, could he? Alfred had never even shot a pistol or gun, not even when he went hunting with his father and Matthew! He dodged the attacker a few more times, until his back was against the taffrail, and he was forced to raise the pistol, aiming it at the man.

The guy grinned, and didn’t seem very frightened by the idea of Alfred aiming a gun at him. He probably looked as nervous, inexperienced and frightened as he felt, Alfred realized. In a sudden, rare moment of feeling a little offended by that, Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed the trigger at the same time.

It rang in his ears, and he heard a shocked groan, but not a thud. He quickly opened his eyes in case he needed to jump out of the way again, but the man in front of him held a hand to the area below his neck, and blood spurted out of his mouth.

He wheezed, and cursed at Alfred in his own language, before tripping over his own two feet and landing on the ground with a loud thud.

Alfred froze, staring down at the man incredulously. What was he supposed to do now? He obviously wasn’t dead yet, still gasping for breath and struggling to get up, but he probably wasn’t going to survive either. He couldn't just kill a man who was already rendered harmless, could he?

The question was answered for him when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yao calmly step over to him and shoot the man between the eyes without further ado. The man’s head didn’t quite explode, but it might as well have, and Alfred promptly turned around to hang over the taffrail and heave his stomach’s contents out.

 _Jesus_ \- that man probably had a family. He must’ve had a mother waiting for him at home, or a wife, maybe even a kid!

When the roaring between his ears stopped and he managed to stop heaving, he noticed the chaos around him had calmed down to cheers and murmuring. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and forget all of this ever happened, but he forced himself to straighten and turn around.

It was easy to single out the red coat of Arthur amidst the sea of pirates and dead privateers. In front of him were two men, both on their knees and glaring up at Arthur. Alfred inched closer, unconsciously seeking out men he knew to stand next to, just in case.

“Come now – Raivis, was it? Tell me how you found me.” Arthur asked, an obnoxiously pleasant ring to his voice. The blonde man he was addressing looked close to crying, but he refused to speak, lips pursed and eyes burning with fear and anger.

Arthur tutted and promptly shot the man next to him in his side, causing Raivis to flinch. The man slumped forward and whimpered wetly, and Alfred realized he’d most likely been shot in his lung.

“I can drag it out. Cleave you to the brisket, and hang you from the yardarm. If you’re lucky, you might choke before you bleed out.” A few pirates snickered, and Alfred resisted a new wave of nausea as he saw the man on the floor cough up blood. “Or you can give me what I want and I will be merciful.”

“Fuck you, you filthy pirate.” Raivis spat, even though he looked terrified. Arthur sighed, waving his pistol in his general direction.

Alfred was distracted by movement on his right side. He tilted his head and tore his eyes from Arthur, to look at what the pirate next to him was doing. The man was raising his arm, and holding a gun, aiming it at Arthur’s direction. All of a sudden Alfred realized it was the rigger who’d acted suspiciously the night before.

Acting without thinking, Alfred crashed his body into him, punching the man’s elbow and causing it to bend upward. A shot rang out as the man pulled the trigger, but the bullet went flying towards the mast, and they both fell to the ground. The rigger cursed and tried to aim his pistol at Alfred, but Alfred quickly punched him in the face, hearing a crack beneath his knuckles.

Before the man could recover from the sudden pain and shock and direct the barrel of his pistol into Alfred’s side, Alfred was roughly pulled off the man by two others. They held him back and refused to let him go, and Alfred realized they probably thought he lost it, as they allowed the other man to scramble up freely.

“He – he tried to shoot the captain.” Alfred immediately accused, swallowing down the nasty taste of hesitation that he might’ve assumed wrongly. But it was the same rigger, and his pistol had been aimed at Arthur, what else had he wanted to do?

The man was holding his broken, bloody nose, and snarling at him, but when Arthur appeared next to Alfred to assess the situation, he raised his pistol again and aimed it directly at Arthur. His victorious shout was cut short when someone else immediately shot him through the head, the bullet entering through his left temple and exiting on the right one.

“Well, this has been an exciting day.” Arthur said after three tense seconds of silence. “It seems my query has been answered, after all.”

He walked back over to Raivis and leaned down, sliding a hand into the man’s jacket, searching for something. A second later he extracted his hand again, an fancy looking envelope in his hand, which he handed over to Yao.

“This young man here just got promoted to captain. It’s only fitting we let him go down with his ship.” Arthur then announced, smirking down at Raivis. “Throw the rest of the bodies into the water.”

* * *

Alfred reckoned that the indifference he was currently feeling was actually his brain’s attempt to protect him from a panic attack. He stayed quiet when his crew mates cheered and bantered around him, celebrating another easy and good fight.

Perhaps it had been an easy and good fight, but they had lost two men. Alfred thought that wasn’t something to be celebrated. Then again, he hadn’t actually known the two men they lost very well: he didn’t even knew their names. Nor did he actually know the now dead rigger, or the gunner currently residing in the brig awaiting his own execution, but he felt a little less bad about them.

The doctor decided he didn’t need a lot of patching up, smearing some sort of lotion on the now closed cut on his bicep and telling him to get some food in him. But Alfred wasn’t hungry, so he went to Ralph and demanded he be of use somewhere. He’d been more than welcome to help with small repairs and cleaning up, and nobody taunted him when he didn’t join in on the singing and laughing.

A chorus of happy greetings to the captain sounded, and Alfred grimaced. Something must be wrong with him – because even through the indifference and the cold, sickly feeling of guilt and regret, his heart treacherously skipped a beat.

“Jones.”

“Captain.” Alfred replied, acknowledging him with a tilt of his head.

“Follow me to my quarters.”

No one spared them a glance as Alfred obediently (if not a little eagerly, and he berated himself for it) stood up and followed Arthur out towards the upper deck and into his quarters. Arthur gestured at the chair Alfred was starting to become familiar with, and Alfred walked over it, sitting himself down with a small feeling of relief.

Being here – being in a room untainted by the previous encounter – it felt as if he had more room to breathe. Everything in Arthur’s quarters was still as he remembered it, and even the noise from outside was muted in here. It was spacious, clean and did not smell of sweat, gunpowder and blood. Alfred could almost imagine he was somewhere else entirely.

Arthur sat down on his own chair on the other side of the desk, and retrieved two glasses and a bottle from one of his drawers. He could tell it wasn’t rum by the lack of color, but he wasn’t sure what it was. However, when Arthur handed him a glass and raised his own to toast, Alfred followed his lead.

It tasted much, much stronger than the watered-down rum the crew usually drank, and Alfred promptly started coughing, much to Arthur’s amusement.

“Vodka. Courtesy of the Russians.” Arthur said, throwing back the contents of his glass in one go.

“Russians?” Alfred asked, politely depositing his still half full glass back on the desk. Arthur smirked and grabbed it, dragging it back over to himself and thumbing at the rim. “Were we just attacked by Russians?”

“Yes and no. We were attacked by privateers, sent by a man called Ivan Braginski. He’s been a thorn in our side for several years now.”

“Why? Who is Ivan Braginski?” He chanced, hoping that his captain was in a sharing mood.

Arthur eyed him for a moment, most likely contemplating something. Then he raised what was originally Alfred's glass and threw back its contents too, before putting the glass back on the desk and leaning backwards in his chair.

“An officer in the Imperial Russian Navy. About a year ago, we attacked his fleet and seized the cargo he’d been transporting. He took it personal and has been hunting us in his spare time.”

Alfred frowned – he hadn’t even known there was an Imperial Russian Navy. Then again, every country or monarchy probably had its own navy, but he was so used to simply calling it the Navy, since the British Empire controlled such a large part of the world.

“I suppose Ivan assumed we would be an easy target, because we're currently sailing solo.” Arthur mused, looking sideways in thought.

“Solo?”

“Around these parts, we usually sail with La Liberté or Die Ehrsucht.” Arthur added, and Alfred resisted asking for more clarification. He knew La Liberté was the ship sailed by Francis Bonnefoy, and he sort of guessed that Die Ehrsucht belonged to Beilschmidt anyway.

Alfred leaned back in his chair too and tried to force himself to relax some more. He still felt terribly on edge, as if something bad was going to happen any moment now. Instead of the building feeling of anxiety in his gut, he focused on Arthur, who still appeared deep in thought.

He looked as if nothing had happened at all. The only thing out of order was that he had removed his hat and gloves, and Alfred’s eyes curiously trailed the small lines of black ink on the fingers and wrist of his left hand.

“A first kill is never easy, Jones.” Arthur suddenly said, tearing Alfred from his daydreaming. Alfred blinked; Arthur sounded somewhat sympathetic, and it was a tone he had never heard in the man’s voice before. “It was either you or them.”

“I – “ He began, before feeling the need to clear his throat and doing so. “I know. I’m fine.” Arthur raised his impressive eyebrows. “All right, yeah, I’m a little shaken. But I’ll manage.”

Arthur nodded once, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk, cushioning his chin in his palms. He studied Alfred for a few seconds then, and as always, Alfred studied him right back, entranced by his shockingly green eyes.

“Now that we are down one rigger, and since you often have your head in the clouds anyway, I’m offering you his job.”

“Seriously?” Alfred asked, a bit flabbergasted. Yet he couldn't deny his excitement either - being a rigger was far better than being a swabbie, and Alfred did love being up in the masts. “Uh, yeah, that’d be great! Thanks. Sir.”

Arthur nodded and leaned back again, opening another drawer. He rummaged through it before extracting a small, leather bound book, which he tossed over to Alfred, who quickly caught it and read the title on its front.

“The code?”

“Despite what you might think, pirates do adhere to _some_ rules.” Arthur said, a light mocking tone to his voice. “Get acquainted with them, if you mean to survive. Return it to me when you are done.”

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, opening the book at a random page and seeing it indeed described laws, rules and societal norms for pirates. The page he opened detailed how bounties and prizes were to be distributed among the crew, but he was more distracted by how the book seemed to have been handwritten.

“I will, thank you.”

“I must admit I’m surprised.” Arthur immediately said, smirking at him again, blatant curiosity visible on his face. Alfred tilted his head, having heard those words from him before. “Not only are you hard working and adaptable, but you’ve also proven yourself loyal.”

Alfred tensed. He’d not thought about it that much himself, but now that Arthur mentioned it, he couldn’t deny that the captain was right. Weirdly enough, Alfred had started to enjoy life on the Emerald Dragon. 

He hadn’t hesitated at all when he saw someone pull a gun on Arthur - he’d quite literally thrown himself in the line of fire, and it could’ve killed him. And for what? A pirate captain and crew that, soberly speaking, were keeping him here as a prisoner?

Only he didn’t _feel_ like a prisoner.

He didn’t have his own money, gun or cutlass, but other than that he was as free as any other man on the ship. Despite having only known the Emerald Dragon’s crew for little more than a month, Alfred had somehow started to consider the ship as his new home. He wouldn’t go as far as calling the crew his family, but they meant _something_ to him.

“One would almost be inclined to think you actually _want_ to be a pirate.”

Alfred hesitated for a moment. He could imply that he still wanted to start anew in some random, new town - but he’d be lying.

“Growing up, I’ve always dreamed of… of more. Being at sea is as near as I can come to that dream.” He said, softer than he’d meant to.

As soon as he said them, he knew he meant the words. Upon that realization, it felt as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. The heavy guilt he’d been carrying got replaced by something lighter – something irresistible and bewitching. 

The feeling intensified when Arthur’s smirk dissolved into something pleasantly surprised, and then Arthur smiled – a genuine and sincere smile, as if he and Alfred shared an intimate secret. His skin felt as if it was tingling, and he was overcome with the sudden and intense desire to learn everything there was to know about Arthur.

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” Arthur said softly, obviously quoting something. Although Alfred didn’t recognize the words, he strongly agreed with them.

That night, as he lied in his hammock and traced his fingers over the book’s leather spine, Alfred couldn’t help but ponder that it was not only the net cast by the sea that he was caught in.

He wondered, if in some book or language, the sea and the feeling of adventure it brought, would be a synonym for emerald green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Grog** – Fresh water on board a ship would often become tainted by i.e. green scum and slime. To cover up the bad taste of old water, it would be mixed with alcohol. This watered down version of rum is also known as grog. Ale too would eventually go bad so often pirates were left with only rum or grog.
> 
>  **Hang him from the yardarm** – A yardarm is a part of a spar on a mast from which sails are set. A person could be hung from there with his hands and feet tied, and a noose around his neck, meaning he would slowly die by strangulation. Yikes!
> 
>  **Imperial Russian Navy** – Between 1688 and 1725, more than a thousand seagoing vessels were built for the Imperial Russian Navy. Fleets were launched on several seas. I’m merely using the Russian Imperial Navy to give our bad guy Ivan (sorry Ivan… ilu) a backstory that makes sense, but it won’t be mentioned in-depth again.
> 
>  **“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever”** – is actually a quote by explorer Jacques Yves-Costeau, who lived from 1911 – 1997, and this story takes place in 1711… but it’s such a wonderful quote, I couldn’t NOT include it! 


	4. Loanda, July 1711, pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of slavery. The story is set in 1711, and in this chapter they’re in Angola, which was one of the centers of the transatlantic slave trade at that time. I’ve chosen not to describe it in detail, because I know I won’t do it justice, but it will be mentioned and discussed, because realistically speaking it’s not possible to leave it out.
> 
> Lots of explanations at the end! If I missed anything, please let me know.

A few weeks ago, Alfred would have never had imagined going to another country, much less another continent. He was eager to disembark and explore the port of Loanda, but at the same time, he felt bereft.

If only he could share this experience – any experience, really – with his brothers.

Albert had always been such a big fan of adventure books, and would always ask Alfred or Matthew to read him stories about noble and courageous men who explored unknown lands. And Matthew, while never as adventurous as Alfred, always did like to go exploring with him when they were still kids.

Not for the first time that month, he toyed with the idea of writing a letter home.

It would destroy his carefully crafted ploy of having been kidnapped or killed, but for some reason he couldn’t stand the idea of his brothers not knowing he was alive.

However, even if he could somehow send them a letter, he would probably never read any reply. By the time his letter would arrive, Alfred would already be back at sea or in another country. And he doubted Arthur would allow him to write down their next destination, if he would even allow him to write a letter at all.

Then again, maybe Arthur _would_ allow a simple letter. 

He was probably imagining it, but for some reason, it felt as if he was actually getting along with Arthur lately. It wasn’t as if they were suddenly best friends, but something in their dynamic had definitely changed.

For example, sometimes when Alfred had a night shift in one of the crow’s nest, Arthur would come up with a bottle of rum to share. He still ignored most of Alfred’s personal questions, but he did humor him by sharing anecdotes from previous voyages.

He even attempted to teach him about constellations and navigating the seas. Alfred hadn’t even known Arthur acted as a navigator on top of a captain until then. And while most of that knowledge was way beyond Alfred, he pretended he understood just so he could listen to Arthur talk. 

There was something different in the way Arthur talked when they were alone and discussing the stars or the sea - something less guarded, and more excited. Alfred felt himself smile stupidly at nothing in particular at merely remembering it. 

“Jones, get your head out of the clouds!”

Alfred snapped out of his daydreaming, and looked up at the rigger above him. The man was glaring and pointing at the sail Alfred was supposed to furl, and Alfred quickly shot him an apologetic smile before scrambling over to said sail.

He was slowly getting better at his new job. No longer did his arms and legs ache painfully at the end of a shift, and he didn’t always need to look at his feet while climbing anymore. Climbing all the way to the tops of the masts was still a little nerve-racking, but that was only normal.

Once done with his task, he sat down on the lowest yard, leaning back against the mast while letting his legs swing on either side of the yard.

He studied the port they were docked at – Loanda seemed a very lively town. Merchants, sailors and children and their mothers bustled about the port while talking animatedly with one another.

Apart from a curious glance every now and then, none of those people paid them any attention, despite their Jolly Roger flying high and proud. A few sailors even shouted their greetings. Alfred had already spotted quite a few other pirate ships, and realized some crews could very well know one another.

Movement below caught his eyes, and he leaned forward a little to watch Arthur and Yao leave the captain’s quarters.

Arthur had forgone his signature cocked hat, and his ruffled blouse wasn’t done up with an expensive gem – no, a few buttons were even undone, teasing a glimpse of bare skin.

From this angle, Alfred could see what he assumed were lines of black ink. He’d never saw any of Arthur’s tattaws in full, but he knew he probably had quite a few, and absentmindedly wondered what they looked like.

Some of the other pirates also had tattaws, and when he asked after them, they explained that each of them had a special meaning; one for crossing a specific ocean, one for honoring a loved one they left at home, and so on.

When Arthur suddenly looked up towards the fore mast and locked eyes with him, Alfred realized he’d been caught staring, and he nearly slipped off the yard in surprise. When he was sure he wasn’t going to slip, he looked back down again to offer Arthur an apologetic smile, but Arthur had already gone over to Leon.

“Alfred!” James suddenly called, and he beckoned him to come down. Alfred tore his eyes from Arthur once more and quickly descended the mast, hopping off the ratline. “I’m going to put in a requisition for some new clothing. You have nothing but what you wear, correct?”

“Uh, yeah.” Alfred said, before realizing what James was asking. “But I don’t have any money.”

“You do not,” James agreed. “but you’re not properly equipped to cross the Atlantic like this, and the cap’n reasoned you should be awarded for your efforts in the capture of those two rats.”

Alfred narrowed his eyes at Arthur, pleasantly surprised. The Emerald Dragon worked with a method called ‘no purchase, no pay’, which meant that any spoils taken during a battle or plunder would be fairly distributed among the crew.

However, since Alfred had first been a stowaway, and since his promotion to rigger had taken place _after_ their encounter with the Russian privateers, Alfred had not yet received any share.

“You’ll need a new shirt and trousers, and maybe some new boots. That okay?”

“Seriously? That’s definitely okay.” Alfred quickly replied, a little surprised, but mostly relieved. He’d been wearing the same clothes for over a month now, and while he made sure to clean himself and the clothes on his back whenever possible, he felt positively grimy.

“You look about my size. You know your shoe size?” He did, and hoped it would be the same here as it would be in England. James nodded, writing it down in the book he was holding, before leaving to find someone else.

Alfred turned on his heel as well, looking for something to do – he could probably be useful below deck, or maybe he could volunteer to carry some empty barrels towards the docks for restocking, but any thought of doing anything helpful fled his mind when he saw Leon walking away and leaving Arthur alone at the taffrails.

His feet obviously had a mind of their own, and before he knew it, he was leaning against the railings, making sure to smile extra charmingly at his captain.

“Jones.” Arthur said impassively. “Looking forward to causing mischief in town?”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Hey, I’ve been nothing but good so far.”

“That's rich, coming from a pirate.” Arthur countered without skipping a beat, and Alfred laughed, feeling a little giddy when the corners of Arthur’s lips twitched upward in response.

He turned from Alfred when Leon reappeared, handing him something that needed to be signed in order for the ships few reparations to be taken care of. Alfred saluted the boatswain with two fingers, but Leon simply glared at him before he left, and well, _you can’t win them all_.

“Since you’ve obviously nothing better to do,” Arthur then said, inclining his head towards Alfred. “you’ll accompany me to town.”

Alfred resisted the urge to tell him he could also ask nicely; for some reason, he often had to remind himself that as his captain, Arthur didn’t _need_ to ask him anything.

“Sir.” Alfred instead said, smiling cheekily. “You got business to take care of?”

“I do.” Arthur answered, before walking over to the gangplank, crossing it with steady and graceful movements.

Alfred pursed his lips and followed, eyeing the stone ground of the ports with hesitation. The moment his feet touched the ground, he felt his knees lock and wobble. He cursed underneath his breath as he felt his legs turn to jelly, causing him to rock forward dangerously.

Arthur, who had waited for him, instantly reached out and grabbed his elbow firmly. The surprisingly strong grip helped him to compose himself, giving him time to rearrange his feet and get used to the sudden stillness beneath his feet.

Surprisingly enough the dizziness wasn’t as bad as it had been when he first left the ship in Spain, but he still had to close his eyes and breathe in and out deeply. The searing feel of Arthur’s hand on his elbow helped distract him, and he was struck with the realization that this was only the third time Arthur had ever touched him.

Once he straightened, Arthur let him go and continued walking, giving Alfred no time to awkwardly thank him.

* * *

It was overwhelmingly crowded in the town, and Alfred struggled a little to keep up with Arthur because he kept getting sidetracked by the foreign sights around him.

Despite knowing better, he eventually got distracted by the display of a shop and stopped to take a look at the glimmering contraptions laid out behind the glass. He'd never seen most of the navigational instruments on display, and briefly he wondered if Arthur possessed such items too.

He decided to ask about it later, and turned back around to find the man in question, only to realize Arthur (and his admittedly hard to miss red coat) had disappeared in the throng of people.

And well, _shit_.

He pursed his lips and searched the crowd for any sign of Arthur, to no avail. Looking back to where he came from, he realized he could still see the masts of several ships docked in the port. It would probably not be too difficult to find his way back to the Emerald Dragon.

However, he should probably try to find Arthur, because Arthur had asked him to accompany him and would probably be angry with him if he simply turned back.

Then again, how was he supposed to find Arthur in a town he didn’t know? They’d been told not to wander too far from the docks alone. He wasn’t sure why, but he figured it had something to do with the mere size of the town, and with how easy it would be to get lost in it. 

He could follow the masses. Judging by their baskets, some full and some empty, they were probably walking towards or from some kind of market. Perhaps Arthur had meant to go to that market, or perhaps he had meant to go to a tavern, and logically speaking, a market usually had taverns nearby.

After weighing the pros and cons for a few seconds, Alfred decided he’d much rather face Arthur’s wrath than actually get lost and, God forbid, attacked or arrested.

Nodding to himself, he promptly turned around to head back to the docks. Unfortunately, because he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings, he immediately collided with someone.

That someone stumbled back and nearly tripped, and Alfred quickly reached out to steady the woman. The woman yanked her arm back and glared at him, and the man next to her started shouting at him in a foreign language.

Alfred quickly raised his hands and took a step back, trying to apologize with hand gestures and words in a language the pair probably did not understand. It obviously failed, because the man took a step forward and roughly shoved him.

Just as he realized it would escalate into a fistfight, someone appeared in his peripheral vision, and the man who’d been angrily shouting at him, instantly paled and shut up.

Alfred turned towards the newcomer, a little overwhelmed, and was surprised to see Arthur standing next to him. He had his hand on the pistol attached to his belt, and glared the man down. Either the pair had an idea of who Arthur was, or they simply felt threatened, because the woman started pulling on the man’s arm to get him to leave with her.

“Captain?” He asked, confused.

Arthur ignored him until the pair made themselves scarce, and then grabbed him by the elbow to drag him along.

“I told you to stay close.” Arthur snapped, barely audible over the loud chatter of the people around them.

Alfred frowned; he’d not heard such a thing, but he decided against voicing it. “I got distracted.”

“The town is crawling with slavers, Jones. I advise you not to go exploring on your own.”

“Wait, what?” Alfred exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt. It caused Arthur’s hand to slip from his elbow, but Arthur stopped as well, an irritated sigh leaving him. “Slavers? What do you mean, slavers?”

Arthur furrowed his brows. “People who capture other people, and then sell said people to the highest bidders.”

“I know what slavers are,” Alfred scoffed, a bit insulted by the patronizing tone Arthur had used. “Are there no authorities here?”

Arthur scowled and crossed his arms. “Authorities? Do you think that these ‘authorities’ are good and honest people simply because they hunt pirates? The slave trade here is simply another way for the Portuguese to fill their pockets. There is nothing illegal about it. Now come with me.”

This time when Arthur turned around and started walking again, Alfred stayed as close as possible. He still looked around whenever possible, suddenly seeing things in a different light.

He’d never considered the possibility of something like slave trade or labor actually being legal. Growing up in a small town that only ever attracted British merchants and the occasional wayward smuggler, meant that he’d always been pretty sheltered from most of the world’s horrors.

Not for the first time since he joined the Emerald Dragon, he was reminded of how utterly and foolishly naive he actually was.

“It’s still wrong.” He grumbled, glaring while keeping his eyes glued on Arthur’s back.

“It is.” Arthur agreed, and Alfred was a little surprised Arthur had heard him at all. “But there is nothing we can do about it, apart from occasionally sailing popular trading routes and intercepting suspiciously large cargo ships.”

The admission offered him little relief, but he supposed it was better than hearing Arthur participated in the business – after all, he was a pirate, and he had no doubt that a lot of pirates did not share Arthur’s moral code.

They took a turn into a slightly calmer street, and the sudden lack of people made it feel as if it were easier to breathe again. Arthur briefly turned around to, most likely, check if Alfred was still behind him, and frowned when he saw Alfred’s stormy expression.

“Shake it off, Jones.” He said, tone surprisingly sympathetic. “You will inevitably learn about more horrors sooner or later. It’s best to toughen up.”

“Fuck,” he sighed, rubbing at his face with a hand. “I know, I know. It just caught me off guard.”

Arthur looked him up and down briefly, before starting to walk again. “Perhaps our destination will cheer you up.”

That was not what Alfred had expected him to say - he had figured Arthur simply had business to attend to and that he needed Alfred to watch his back. Arthur side-eyed him with a small smile, and Alfred decided the quickest way of finding out what Arthur meant, was to simply follow him.

* * *

The better part of the remaining hour of their trek was spent in silence.

He’d probably deny it if he were asked, but Arthur had noticeably slowed down, often checking to see if Alfred was still following him or not.

Alfred used the opportunity to look around a little again, though he was careful not to get completely sidetracked by anything that caught his eye.

Eventually the smell of sea and ships hit him again, and he realized they were approaching a different port. After a quick mental analysis of their route, he figured this was the northern port of the city. Arthur most likely wanted to visit another ship, he reckoned. He briefly wondered why that ship wasn’t docked at the same port as the Emerald Dragon – but once they actually entered the docks, he could see why.

Most of the ships docked at the northern port were _massive_ – they were most likely all Man-o-Wars, galleons and Ship of the Line’s.

The port was as crowded as the one they were docked at, but among the raggedy sailors and prostitutes were also wealthy-looking merchants and what had to be soldiers. He tried not to think about how many of the servants loitering about were actually slaves, and instead glued his eyes onto Arthur’s back again.

Arthur walked right up to a huge ship. It had to be nearly twice as big as the Emerald Dragon, with at least twice as many cannons. While Arthur easily walked up to its gangplank, he took a moment to stop and gawk at it.

On its side, the name ‘ _Midsommarafton’_ was painted, and he wondered what it meant.

“The Midsummer’s Eve.” Arthur suddenly said, as if reading his mind. “It’s commandeered by captain Berwald Oxenstierna.”

“It’s huge.” Alfred said with an impressed whistle, walking over to his captain. None of the sailors near the ship paid them any attention, and he realized they probably knew Arthur.

“It’s a Ship-of-the-Line.” Arthur confirmed. “It has over a hundred cannons and can house more than two hundred people.”

Alfred whistled. “Kinda impractical for a pirate ship though, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a pirate ship.” Arthur said, surprising him. “They’re more like... privateers.”

Alfred frowned, remembering the last time they encountered privateers. “And we’re just gonna go up and say hi?”

At that, Arthur smirked lightly. He nodded for Alfred to follow as he gracefully crossed the gangplank. “We’ve nothing to fear from Berwald and his crew.”

Once on deck, they were almost immediately greeted by a short and young-looking man. Alfred wondered if he was actually already a man – he looked more like a boy, really. No older than Matthew.

“Hello, Arthur!” The man said cheerfully, a thick accent pleasantly coating his voice. “Berwald is in his quarters. You can head in, if you want.”

“Thank you, Tino.” Arthur said, nodding agreeably. “I’ll manage. This is my new rigger, Alfred Jones. Could you keep him busy until I get back? He’s never seen a Ship of the Line before.”

Alfred was a little overwhelmed with surprise – first, Arthur genuinely smiled at this man, like he was an old friend.

Second, Arthur called him by his full name, and Alfred had never heard Arthur say his first name before. He was a little sad that it happened out of the blue, because he already couldn’t recall how it had sounded.

Third; Arthur requesting he’d be kept busy, as if he was a little child who might otherwise throw a tantrum. Then again, he _was_ immensely curious, and Arthur most likely knew.

“Of course! It will be my pleasure to give him a tour.” Tino said with a bright smile, waiting until Arthur nodded and left before turning to Alfred. “Nice to meet you Alfred, my name is Tino.”

“Uh, hey. Nice to meet you.” He replied, a little distracted because he was still trying to figure out what they (or Arthur) were doing here.

“How long have you been with Arthur?”

“About two months? I think. I’ve only been a rigger for a couple of weeks, though.” Alfred replied honestly; something about Tino’s face encouraged him to be honest.

“And how are you liking it? I never much liked climbing up into the masts. Unfortunately, as navigator, I’m sometimes required to.”

All right, now he _had_ to ask. He looked way too young to be a navigator – something Arthur told him was an incredibly difficult job, after all. “If you don’t mind me asking… how old are you exactly?”

Tino laughed lightly, not appearing surprised at all. “I get that a lot, don’t worry. I’m twenty-two.”

Alfred hummed with surprise; he would’ve never guessed Tino was a year older than him. “Oh, right. Uh, yeah, it’s been great so far, being a rigger.”

“Have you sailed before joining Arthur?”

It felt a little as an interrogation, and it probably was, but Tino looked immensely sincere and so Alfred shrugged.

“Can’t say I have. Actually, I’ve never crossed an ocean before I joined the Emerald Dragon. But I’m really liking it so far.”

Tino smiled brightly, and it immediately relaxed Alfred – something about Tino felt very comfortable, and he imagined some might even compare his friendly smiles to those of an older sibling or parent, despite his younger appearance.

“You might reconsider after crossing the Atlantic Ocean.” He said, winking. “It can take months if the weather is bad… but the Dragon is much faster than our ship. You’re also going to the Americas, yes? I've always liked it there.”

Alfred sincerely hoped the weather would not be bad – he loved being at sea, yes, but to be adrift for months with no land in sight? That might be a bit too much, even for him.

“You’re going to the Americas as well?”

Tino opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by another man, who locked an arm around Tino’s neck and forcibly joined the conversation. Tino kept smiling, although he looked a little exasperated right then.

“Sup, shortie!” The man exclaimed, before noticing Alfred. “Oh, we picked up new meat?”

“No, Mathias.” Tino sighed, gently extracting said blonde from himself. “This is Alfred Jones, Arthur’s newest addition.”

“Yikes, poor you. Arthur’s got such a large stick up his ass, haha!” Mathias said loudly and Alfred resisted cringing, hoping his captain was nowhere in sight. “You get to sail on the Dragon though! I’ve always wanted to know what that’s like.”

“It’s pretty amazing.” Alfred said, grinning a little. He imagined it was a lot faster than the huge ship they were on, after all. Size could come in handy in battle, but speed and the ability to maneuver through shallow waters offered a whole different advantage and experience.

“Lucky bastard. Come and have a drink with us, aye?”

Before Alfred could even answer, Mathias had already grabbed him by the elbow and was dragging him below deck towards what was most likely the galley. Tino followed as well, which offered some comfort.

Once in the galley Mathias led him towards an already occupied table; a rather surly looking man sat there, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Mathias let go of Alfred and bumped his hip against the man’s shoulder.

“Lukas, _elskede_ , move over.”

The man, Lukas, sighed and moved aside so that Mathias could sit next to him. He sat rather close to him, pressing their shoulders together despite there being more than enough space. Alfred decided not to be nosy and sat down on the opposite bench with Tino.

* * *

Arthur had been right – this visit did cheer him up.

Tino, Mathias and Lukas were friendly and genuinely funny, and it was very refreshing to hang out with people whose humor was not dependent on either violence or rum.

He learned that they were Scandinavian, and came from either Finland or Denmark-Norway. Apparently their captain, Berwald, had been on the ship since he was a little boy, taking over the position of captain after his father passed away.

Mathias had been a pirate before joining up and snatching up the job as Berwald’s quartermaster, and was very willing to boast about all his previous adventures. Lukas was a bit more timid about answering Alfred’s questions, but admitted to having been in the Dano-Norwegian Navy before defecting due to reasons he wasn’t willing to share.

Tino only told him that the Midsommarafton had saved him from an untimely death years ago, and that he’d grown up with Berwald. Alfred decided not to ask for clarification, not wanting to somehow make the otherwise bubbly man uncomfortable.

They were an odd bunch, he thought: Mathias was loud and brash, Tino was soft and gentle, and Lukas had the emotionless, unreadable vibe down to a T. Despite this, they interacted with each other like they were a tightly knit family.

Alfred hadn’t felt this comfortable with strangers since before he joined the Emerald Dragon, and vaguely he wondered what it would’ve been like if he would’ve been a stowaway on _this_ ship. Would he have decided to stay, as well? Or would he have still settled somewhere else?

Would he have ever met Arthur at all?

Merely thinking about it left a sour, guilty taste in his mouth, and he quickly shoved the thought away.

Eventually Mathias and Lukas got caught in some kind of half-hearted argument – Alfred wasn’t sure if they were really arguing, because their body language betrayed something else entirely. Not wanting to interfere, he turned towards Tino, who’d been quietly observing for the past few minutes.

“You look like you have more questions.” Tino said then, smiling knowingly at Alfred.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been told I’m too curious for my own good.” Alfred admitted sheepishly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, cushioning his chin on his hands.

“There is no such thing as too curious.” Tino easily replied. “Ask away; perhaps I have answers.”

“How long have you known Arthur?” Saying his captain’s first name out loud felt odd, but it also felt strange to refer to him as captain Kirkland in the presence of people who all used Arthur’s first name.

“We crossed paths about five years ago.” Tino mused. “We… share an acquaintance. I’m afraid it’s not really my story to tell.”

Despite wanting to do so badly, Alfred knew when not to pry. “How come you’re working with us? Pirates, I mean. You guys are privateers, right?”

The slight frown that had appeared on Tino’s face during Alfred’s earlier question dissolved, a happy smile takings its place again.

“A privateer is really just a pirate with papers that permit them to be a pirate.” Tino said, as if that explained anything. He must’ve known what Alfred was thinking, because he continued for his benefit. “We intercept ships in the Atlantic and take their cargo, but we do it… legally, I suppose. The bonus is that we chose our own commissions.”

Alfred hummed and nodded, more so to himself. “And get government pay, right?”

Tino laughed. “Occasionally. I’ve been told it’s an easier life than that of a pirate, but I have nothing to compare it to. What do you think of the pirate life so far?”

“I don’t know.” Alfred said honestly. “When I left home, all I wanted was to cross the ocean and begin anew in the colonies. I never thought I’d willingly become a pirate, but then again, so far my expectations of piracy don’t match up to reality.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, y’know. Back home there were many stories about ships like the Emerald Dragon, with a bloodthirsty crew that waged war with random ships at sea, or raided unsuspecting villages and left no man, woman or child alive. But so far it’s been…”

“Boring?” Tino added helpfully.

“Ha, no, I wouldn’t say boring. I mean, I’m just a bit underwhelmed so far, I guess? But I’ve only been with captain Kirk- uh, Arthur, for two months. So I’m probably speaking prematurely.”

Tino shrugged. “The funny thing about stories and gossip, is that they exaggerate and villainize the exciting bits, and leave out the boring bits. Not every man who becomes a pirate does so because he wants to murder and rape. But you’ll get your fill of the life you’re expecting yet, Alfred, don’t worry.”

“Oh man, now you’re just making me anxious.” Alfred said, hoping to alleviate the man’s serious expression a little. It worked, and Tino chuckled, but he still felt a little anxious himself.

Despite not having experienced any of the uglier, often bragged about parts of being a pirate, he knew that Tino was right: someday, he _would_ experience them. The prospect of ever having to participate in something like a raid or another, tougher battle at sea made him nervous. 

Not because he was afraid for his own life, but because of what he might be forced to do. He was somewhat at peace with having to do whatever it would take to defend himself and his own, but he couldn’t imagine ever purposefully hurting someone innocent – or even worse; taking an innocent life.

He could only hope, that when the time would come, the situation would not live up to his worst expectations.

They talked a bit more about the Americas and the experiences Tino had there so far, when the fun was cut short by the sound of heavy boots ascending to the galley. Alfred turned to see an incredibly tall man approach them, Arthur in tow.

He was a little amused with how short Arthur seemed in comparison to what was obviously the captain of this ship, if Tino’s reaction was anything to go by - the navigator quickly got up to greet Berwald with a soft smile.

“Ber! Come and have a drink with us, you big bastard.” Mathias cheered jovially, either oblivious to the unimpressed glare Berwald sent him, or completely ignoring it.

Berwald turned towards Tino, addressing him in a language Alfred assumed was Swedish. Tino nodded and swiftly left the galley, taking a turn opposite of the way back to the main deck, and with some regret, Alfred realized he hadn’t gotten that tour the navigator had proposed earlier. 

“Having fun?” Arthur asked him, carefully concealed humor in his voice – Alfred had spent too much time studying Arthur, and was able to recognize some of his tells by now. 

“You know me, I know how to have a good time.” He joked, and Arthur rolled his eyes. He remained standing, and Alfred knew it was time to go, so he quickly got to his feet.

Then Tino reappeared, a bundle of documents in his hands that he handed to Arthur. “Here they are.” 

“Thank you. I’ll be seeing you on the other side of the Atlantic, Berwald.” Arthur said, and Berwald nodded curtly. “Good night, Tino, Lukas.”

He merely glared at Mathias, but without any real heat, and Mathias snorted.

“Bye, Arthur!” Mathias drawled with a sickeningly sweet smile, and Arthur rolled his eyes at him before turning around and leaving the galley.

Alfred couldn’t resist a surprised laugh, wondering if perhaps Mathias and Arthur knew each other better than Mathias had let on, and quickly followed after his captain. He definitely looked forward to meeting this odd bunch again in the Americas.

* * *

“You know a _lot_ of people.” Alfred said, after about fifteen minutes of silence.

The sun was setting, casting a warm and golden glow over the streets they were walking through. After realizing some of their previously taken streets were now packed with the evening crowd, Arthur had decided to take a different route back to the ship.

It was a quieter one, with more houses than shops or taverns. Instead of large shopping crowds, the only people present were playing children and teens with their moms watching over them, and a few workers.

Alfred had been a little distracted by how the sunset cast a mesmerizing glow over Arthur’s blonde hair, and as usual, Arthur had caught him staring, so he had decided to make idle conversation. Fortunately, Arthur took the bait.

“I’ve been sailing the world for quite some time.”

“How long?” Alfred asked, hopeful.

Arthur was silent for a few seconds, and Alfred figured his question would probably go ignored. Surprisingly enough, Arthur eventually hummed, as if in thought.

“About fifteen, sixteen years now, I reckon.” He answered. “I sailed on the Setting Friday until it shipwrecked and then joined Die Ehrsucht. When I crossed paths with the Emerald Dragon, I joined them and became its captain three years later.”

Alfred hummed, surprised by the extent of Arthur’s answer and contemplating these new bits of information he’d just been handed. He recognized the name of captain Beilschmidt’s ship, but he had never heard of that other ships.

Arthur seemed to be in a generous mood, and if he were lucky, he’d probably get away with asking after one of the ships. After a brief, mental debate, he settled on the ship he did not know yet.

“What happened with the Setting Friday?”

“It was attacked by sirens near Madagascar.”

“Sirens?” Alfred parroted, looking at Arthur in an attempt to find any signs that he was being messed with. “You mean mermaids? You can’t be serious.”

Arthur scowled lightly, and Alfred realized his dissatisfied expression probably meant he regretted telling Alfred at all.

“Uh, sorry. But I mean, it’s just fiction, right? Scary stories to keep kids from playing in deeper waters.”

Arthur scoffed, sounding a little resigned. “They exist. They’re not very common on this side of the Atlantic, but we will likely run into them in the Caribbean.”

“You’re – you’re actually serious.” Alfred said, astonished. He was starting to doubt himself; Arthur’s humor usually revolved around insults and threats, not made up stories. “What are they like?”

“As long as you are under their spell, they appear beautiful, beguiling and gentle. In reality they are terrifying creatures with razor sharp teeth and claws. They snag their victims from their ship and then drag them down to the bottom of the sea. Hopefully, they die a swift death, but no one's lived to tell what exactly goes on down there.”

Alfred frowned, contemplating the fact that while sailing the Caribbean, they apparently wouldn’t only have to look out for enemies _on_ the water, but also _in_ the water.

“So why are we sailing their way? Isn’t that tempting fate?”

“Yes. Utterly exhilarating, is it not?” Arthur said, looking at him sideways with an excited grin, and Alfred’s heart skipped a treacherous beat at the sight.

“I wouldn’t call it that.” He mumbled halfheartedly, not entirely sure if Arthur’s excitement was rubbing off on him, or if the feeling in his chest was anxiety.

“Don’t worry Jones,” Arthur said, grin turning wry. “I have a feeling you are less susceptible to a mermaid than most other men.”

Alfred wanted to claim that he had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but judging by the way Arthur had looked when he said it, he realized he knew exactly what Arthur was saying.

However, he’d only just started to toy with the possibility of being attracted to men instead of women. So far, the only person inciting any kind of… _excitable_ _reaction_ in him, had been Arthur.

Maybe that was just because Arthur was so exhilarating; to him, Arthur represented adventure and freedom, in some way. Or maybe he was just desperate to form some kind of familial relationship, being so far from home.

After all, he could not for the life of him remember any other time he might’ve felt attracted to the same sex without being aware of it.

Whatever it meant – he was not yet ready to bring it up with anyone else. Especially not Arthur.

“Are you?” Alfred asked instead, knowing it was a loaded question to ask, but unable to contain himself anyway.

The grin fell from Arthur’s lips, making way for that intense, searching expression he sometimes wore when studying Alfred. It was one that never failed to make Alfred feel a little hot underneath his collar.

He refused to avert his eyes and watched as Arthur stopped walking, turning towards Alfred to regard him properly with burning, calculating eyes.

Alfred stopped walking too, feeling the urge to shift on his feet but fighting against it. However, something must’ve been visible on his face, because Arthur’s intense expression made way for an amused one once more.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Arthur answered coyly, and Alfred forced himself to swallow inconspicuously, ignoring how his throat suddenly felt as dry as sand.

He wasn’t sure what to say in return, and was about to probably say something foolish, when Arthur promptly started walking again, as if nothing had happened.

But Alfred knew something _did_ happen. Unfortunately, the only proof he had, was the rapid beating of his own heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * **Slave trade in Loanda** – São Paulo da Assunção de Loanda (called Luanda now) is the capitol of Angola, which was under Portuguese rule at the time this story takes place. During this period Loanda also served as the center of transatlantic slave trade to (the Portuguese colony of) Brazil.
>   * **Tattaw** – over the centuries, tattoos have been called by different names. It’s said that the popularity of modern Western tattooing mostly comes from Captain Cook’s voyages to the South Pacific in the 1770s. During his first voyage, he used the word ‘tattaw’. I know this story takes place in 1711, but I’m taking a creative liberty with this one.
>   * **The Midsommarafton** **crew** – captain Berwald (Sweden), navigator Tino (Finland), quartermaster Mathias (Denmark), first mate Lukas (Norway). Emil (Iceland) hasn’t been introduced yet, but he’s a cabin boy! Also, if you've read this story before... the same thing is gonna happen, lol.
>   * **Tino having been saved by the Midsommarafton** – I haven’t mentioned this explicitly, but I wanted to explain anyway, because I’m a history nerd! In 1695-1697,the Swedish Empire suffered a catastrophic famine. Finland was most affected – they called it ‘the years of many deaths’, because the famine killed about a third of the Finnish population in only two years. In 1697, when Tino was 8, the Midsommarafton picked him up from the streets and thus saved him.
>   * **Elskede** – Mathias called Lukas elskede, which is Danish for beloved. Let’s go DenNor shippers! God, I kinda want to write their own story for this. I’ve given them a whole backstory in my head lol.
>   * **Mermaids in Madagascar** – In Malagasy culture, mermaids are said to pull you down while you are swimming in the ocean, presumably to join their underwater world.
> 



	5. Loanda, August 1711, pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also known as: Alfred and his gay panic.  
> Less piratey stuff, more introductions and some (nsfw lol) development. 
> 
> Warning: some FrUk action at the end - it's the only action I'm giving them in this story, Alfred gets his hands on the goods from there on!

For the umpteenth time that morning, Alfred stumbled backward and landed on his ass. He winced and grumbled when James snorted with amusement. With a grimace, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

After breakfast James told him to follow him up to the forecastle deck, and there he’d handed Alfred a cutlass. When asked if he knew how to fight with it, Alfred had honestly admitted that he’d never even really held a sword before, and James had kindly proposed he’d teach him right then and there.

It started out easy enough – James explained how to hold the sword and how to position his feet, among other things.

But then they actually started sparring; and whoever thought that practicing with _actual_ cutlasses was _a good idea_ , was a moron.

He wouldn’t tell James to his face, though. Not when the man was already kicking his ass and obviously enjoying it, too.

“On your feet, Jones!” James barked, an amused grin tugging at his lips, and Alfred glared at him as he scrambled back to his feet. “You gotta mind your left.”

He didn’t even know what the first mate _meant_ with that, but he assumed that his left was open in a vulnerable away. How was he supposed to fix that, anyway? James was obviously not keen on giving him any more _useful_ advice.

The sweltering heat didn’t help him focus either – nor the fact that Arthur had been observing them for the past ten minutes.

The one silver lining was that no one else was watching. They’d leave for the Americas the next morning, and most of the crew was using this last day to occupy the taverns and whore houses one last time. Only a skeleton crew remained on the ship to stand guard, and all of them were high up in the masts, with the exception of themselves and one man on the poop deck.

“Pay attention!” James barked as he suddenly charged at him again, and Alfred only just managed not to yelp and jump away.

Instead he blocked the sudden swipe of James’ sword and tried to get behind him, but James easily turned around and lashed out at him again.

This time he managed to knock the sword right out of Alfred’s grip, and Alfred grimaced as he waved his hand around, trying to shake off the sudden and short pain that flared up in his wrist.

“You were always shit at teaching others, James.” Arthur taunted from where he was leaning against the wooden railings, an amused grin on his face.

James laughed amicably at their captain. “Well, you were the one that taught me, sir. Perhaps you can teach this lily-livered rookie, too.”

“Hey!” Alfred exclaimed; he was _not_ a coward, he simply didn’t want to accidentally slash James’ entire torso open. If they were to use wooden swords, he’d probably be more confident, but right now all he could think about was the sharpness of their blades.

“Perhaps I will. You need to retrieve your requisitions anyway.” Arthur agreed, surprisingly, and Alfred blanched.

Arthur's mere presence and observing already made him nervous enough to lose focus; what would happen if he were actually sparring with Arthur himself?

“Good luck, laddie.” James said teasingly, sheathing his own cutlass. “Yer gonna need it. Perhaps the cap’n can make a man outta you yet.”

“Great.” Alfred groused, glaring at him halfheartedly as the first mate shared one more inaudible joke with their captain before making himself scarce. 

He took the brief moment of reprieve to catch his breath – though he supposed there was nothing relaxing about the prospect of having to spar with Arthur. He watched as Arthur shrugged off his red coat, gently hanging it over the wooden railings.

Then he turned back to Alfred and stalked over, unsheathing his own cutlass.

That sight alone should _not_ have been as distracting as it was, and Alfred was sure he was going to trip and fall straight on Arthur’s blade somehow.

Though perhaps that would actually be a blessing. It would definitely save him from any embarrassment, after all.

“I noticed you were holding back.” Arthur said as he got into position, aiming his blade at Alfred. “I know you're strong, so why are you holding back?”

“Uh,” Alfred started, as if explaining something obvious. “Because I didn’t want to impale him on my sword and then get keelhauled for murdering my superior?”

“Don’t overestimate yourself, Jones." Arthur chuckled. "You needn't hold back. Let’s raise the stakes. If you can get one scratch on me, you can take the night off.”

Alfred furrowed his brows – he didn’t much mind the night shift, but he supposed he _would_ like to be well rested tomorrow when they’d depart.

Also: Arthur was challenging him, and Alfred didn’t need an incentive to be spurred on by a challenge.

“I won’t go easy on you.” He warned, feeling his cheeks warm up with slight embarrassment when Arthur laughed mockingly.

“I should hope not.”

Fine. If Arthur wanted to fight dirty, Alfred would play along.

But first; his shirt clung to him like a second skin, and the sheer grimy feeling of it made his skin crawl. So before he picked up his cutlass again, he quickly grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up, removing his shirt altogether. He tossed the item sideways, a little disgusted when it landed with a wetter sound that it ought to, and bent over to pick up his cutlass.

Arthur didn’t look very intimidated, but he did give him an appreciative once-over, and Alfred suddenly realized that being shirtless might very well be counterproductive, especially if Arthur kept eyeing him like that.

Suddenly he felt incredibly naked - but he couldn't back out now. 

He got into position as well, and immediately Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Feet further apart, Jones.”

 _Right_. He obliged, spreading his feet until Arthur nodded with approval.

Surprisingly enough, Arthur did not charge at him to immediately knock him off his inexperienced feet. Instead Arthur went over the best footing for the quickest attack or the best defense. He corrected him on his posture, and even demonstrated a few poses.

“You’re currently on a ship, so mind the swaying of the waves. Always remember to use the conditions to your advantage. You’re a pirate, so fight like one. Sunlight can blind your enemy, rocks will make them stumble, sand can be kicked into their eyes. If technique fails you, make sure you tire them out. Endurance is more important than strength.”

Eventually Arthur came close and demonstrated a few attacks, but slowly, so that Alfred had enough time to see them coming and to properly react. After a while, his muscles were starting to feel a little sore, but the excitement from _actually_ _learning_ how to fight kept him going.

After what had to have been almost an hour, Arthur nodded and took a few steps back, getting into position again.

“All right, now let’s see if you can get that nick on me.”

Alfred went for the element of surprise and lunged forward, but unsurprisingly, Arthur easily and gracefully dodged all of his swings. He didn’t even deflect any of them, simply stepping out of the way and circling around him.

“I told you to rely on endurance, Jones.” Arthur repeated, sounding as if he explained something to a child, and Alfred huffed, stepping back so that they could start anew again.

“All right, you come at me, then.” Alfred said, before adding a respectful; “Sir.”

The corners of Arthur’s lips twitched upward, and they both took their positions again. Arthur remained where he was though, aiming his sword at Alfred’s feet.

“You’re full of openings. Relax your shoulders, and keep your elbows bent. No, not _that_ bent, ease up a little. And remember the conditions; the sun's high in the air, the ship's swaying rhythmically. Ready?”

Alfred doubted he'd have the mindset to pay attention to the conditions of his surroundings in a real fight, if he already couldn't remember them now. “No, but come at me anyway.”

Arthur grinned sharply and then rushed forward; Alfred only just managed to raise his sword in time to deflect what would’ve otherwise been a thorough slice at his arm. He frowned when he realized Arthur hadn’t pulled his attack at all. If he hadn’t defended in time, he would’ve actually hurt him, the bastard.

And yet, because of the fear he’d actually be cut, his adrenaline spiked so high, that he managed to (however amateurishly) defend himself against each attack.

Arthur kept correcting Alfred's movements, easily sidestepping his every counterattack. Despite what he thought earlier, he realized Arthur probably _was_ holding back, because he didn't sound remotely out of breath and he didn't seem to have a hard time either. 

It didn't really upset him - after all, he was terrible at this - but he did briefly wonder what it would be like if Arthur fought him for real.

Or rather: he imagined Arthur fighting a real enemy. He could imagine Arthur would be relentless. He'd use every advantage he could find, and probably play dirty too. It would probably be breath-taking, and perhaps it was a little twisted of him to think that.

Arthur looked as if he was enjoying himself, and it caused Alfred to enjoy himself too, merely out of association - up until Arthur rammed the pommel of his cutlass into his side, causing him to wheeze and stumble back again.

“Snap out of it, boy. Your daydreaming will be the death of you.”

“To be honest, cap, you’re talking a lot, and also swinging at me a lot, and I’m not sure what I should pay attention to.”

“You should pay attention to both, and more." Arthur said, a slightly disappointed ring to his voice, one that caused Alfred to straighten immediately. "Are you tiring already?”

“Not on your life.” Alfred growled – he was nothing if not competitive when edged on, after all.

He decided to give up on half-assed strategies, and just pushed all of his frustration in his own attacks, trying to win by force alone no matter what Arthur said about endurance.

Arthur appeared caught off-guard by his change of tactics, but was much more skilled than he was in the end, and Alfred wasn’t too surprised when eventually his cutlass went flying again.

However, instead of waiting for Alfred to pick it up, Arthur promptly tossed his own away too, and raised his fists.

Alfred grinned with excitement – he was _much_ better with his fists, after all.

“Getting confident?” Arthur provoked, and Alfred couldn’t help but laugh.

“With respect: I’m just excited to land a hit on you, sir.” He teased in return, pulse racing for several reasons when Arthur smiled back coyly.

Alfred wasted no time in pouncing on the other. It didn’t work as well as he hoped – Arthur danced around him as easily as he had done while they were still swinging swords, occasionally slamming his own fists in strategical places, making sure each punch stung painfully.

“If this is how you fight, Jones, I fear you would be better off a married man.” Arthur taunted, and the slightly inconsiderate insult caused him to snap. 

He barreled his body against Arthur’s, knowing that there were no sharp objects awaiting him, and noted with satisfaction that Arthur staggered back this time.

When Arthur lunged forward, he grabbed his fist in his hand, and twisted his arm harshly behind his back, knowing it must’ve hurt. Arthur made a noise, but Alfred realized it didn’t sound exactly pained.

Unfortunately, Arthur easily twisted along in a freakish display of agility, untangling himself and kicking at Alfred’s kneecap.

Alfred almost went down, because shit, _that hurt_. He wasn’t in time to avoid Arthur’s next move, and before he knew it he was backed against the taffrails, the sharp tip of a dagger digging into his abdomen.

“That’s – “ Alfred wheezed, having to clear his throat first. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m a pirate.” Arthur said simply, a dangerous yet playful glint in his eyes. “You’re incredibly predictable, but I commend you for trying to use your larger size to your advantage.”

“What about endurance over strength?”

“I would’ve absolutely tired you out, had I let this go on.” Arthur mused, sliding the dagger up to Alfred’s chest.

It didn't pierce his skin, fortunately, but it did left a slight sting. However, instead of hurting, the sting only caused his blood to burn hotter underneath his skin.

He felt his throat dry up considerably and involuntarily let his eyes slide down the man's smaller frame.

Arthur was standing very close to him, and he could see that he _was_ panting lightly now. The slight rise and fall of his chest was so well concealed that he probably would not have noticed if they'd been further apart. The shirt he was wearing stuck to his skin a little too, most likely due to the exertion and the heat. 

"I think you'd be surprised." Alfred mumbled, unaware that he had said it out loud, eyes still glued to the tantalizingly sweaty skin of Arthur's neck.

Arthur shifted, and a leg pressed against his own, and Alfred snapped out of his daydream when he realized - with mortification - that a good portion of his blood had traveled south sometime during their spar.

And judging by the suddenly unreadable expression on Arthur's face, he realized Arthur knew it too. 

“Mind yourself, Jones.” Arthur said lowly. “There are only so many boundaries you can cross.”

“What happens when I cross one too many?” Alfred decided to ask, voice equally low, trying not to appear as nervous as he felt as he met Arthur's gaze again.

Arthur raised his chin a little, glancing at him through half-lidded eyes, while pressing the tip of the dagger into his chest a little harsher.

Alfred felt his pulse flutter excitedly: this particular sight was going to haunt him forever.

“You should cool down, _Alfred_.” Arthur purred in a near whisper.

Alfred was so distracted by how sultry Arthur had sounded, that he didn’t notice a leg had hooked around his own until it was too late.

One of Arthur's hands pushed against his chest, and he yelped as he felt himself tumble over the low taffrail.

At least he remembered to close his eyes and hold his breath on time.

He crashed into the cold water, and immediately kicked himself back up to resurface, grimacing as the salt water burned in his throat and eyes. Looking up, he saw Arthur lean on the taffrails casually.

“How’s the water?” Arthur called mockingly.

“It’s great!” Alfred yelled back. “Very refreshing. You should try it.”

Whatever Arthur said or didn't say in response, he didn’t wait to hear it. He quickly swam around the ship towards the docks and pulled himself up, ignoring the amused looks from bystanders and stomping back over the Emerald Dragon’s gangplank.

Arthur had donned his coat once more and gone down to the main deck to either gloat or laugh at him, and Alfred resisted a petulant pout.

He’d retaliate, but he knew he wouldn’t get away with it alive, so he merely straightened and tried to look dignified.

“Did the water cool your head?” Arthur teased. 

“My head, and other parts.” Alfred countered, strangely satisfied when Arthur’s amused smile dropped. “Thanks for the lesson, cap. We should do it again. Sparring sure does get the blood pumpin', right?”

He nonchalantly ran a hand through his wet hair, making sure Arthur saw it when he gave Arthur a once-over for a change, and then shook his head a little to get rid of excess water. 

“Your cheekiness will one day be the death of you.” Arthur said humorlessly.

“I thought my curiosity was already going to kill me one day.” Alfred quipped without skipping a beat. 

Arthur didn't look amused, however. “Careful, Alfred.” He warned, sounding surprisingly serious. 

For once, Alfred wisely shut up, silently watching as Arthur shouldered past him and left the ship without further ado.

For some reason, it felt as if he'd crossed a boundary, but he wasn’t sure if it was a bad one or not.

* * *

Even though he didn’t want to, Alfred spent the rest of the day brooding over his earlier encounter with Arthur, and its implications. He realized he’d gotten a little too comfortable with trading barbs with Arthur, and with talking back when he should actually shut up.

Whatever _that_ had been earlier, probably didn’t help either, and he couldn’t help but wonder what Arthur meant when he warned him to be careful.

At least Arthur hadn’t really seemed angry with him. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t messed up whatever weird, amicable thing they had going on: being on your captain’s good side was far better than being on his bad side, especially if said captain was Arthur Kirkland.

So, to escape his brooding, Alfred eventually agreed to spend his last few free hours in the tavern with Ralph and several other of his mates, concluding that drinking away his troubles was one way of dealing with it. There was no grievance that couldn’t be solved by false singing, cheap rum and loud bragging, or so his crew mates liked to make him believe.

He made sure not to get too caught up in the merrymaking: it wouldn't do to be shitfaced during his guard duty that night, and he was pretty sure he'd already reached his daily quota of pissing of a superior. 

His mates however seemed intent on getting as wasted as possible, and he had the idea that they were a little nervous. After all; crossing the Atlantic Ocean could take a few weeks or even months, depending on the weather. There was a chance they’d be out longer than expected, and it would mean having to ration.

Obviously no one was looking forward to it. Alfred didn't have anything to compare everyone's worries too, so he decided not to add this particular worry to his already large pile of them. 

Reluctantly he left his mates in the middle of what was probably another fake retelling of an adventure about half an hour before he was supposed to relieve the rigger on duty. However, as he passed the bar, he accidentally bumped into someone disturbingly familiar.

He mumbled an apology and then halted - the man looked _just_ like Lovino, but he knew the Scarlet Fiesta had went straight to the Americas after leaving Spain… and yet, maybe they had changed their mind? Surely he would've heard if they did, right?

He supposed that the best way to find out, was to simply ask him.

“Lovino Vargas?”

The man immediately straightened and looked at him with surprise. It was then that Alfred realized this was _not_ Lovino, but rather someone who looked _a lot_ like him.

“Lovino is my brother.” The man said with the same melodic accent Lovino spoke with, if Alfred’s memory served him right. “You’ve met him?”

Alfred quickly smiled and nodded, holding out his hand. “Yeah! I met him in Spain. My name is Alfred, Alfred Jones.”

“You helped him find me, right? Thank you so much! I am Feliciano, it is so nice to finally meet you!” Feliciano said happily, reaching out to enthusiastically shake his hand. “It was very kind of you. I don’t often get to see Lovino, I think Antonio is scared he might leave otherwise! Which is really silly because Lovino really likes Antonio. I wanted to come and thank you earlier, but Kirkland is so scary… I am glad we finally met!”

Alfred chuckled and gently pulled his hand back. It worked, and Feliciano immediately let go of him, smiling apologetically. “No problem, man! I’m glad I could help.”

“You should meet my crew! Eli and Roderich are very nice. Gilbert not so much, but he’s not as scary as Kirkland. Come, come!”

Immediately Feliciano’s hand latched onto his arm again. He started dragging Alfred along with him, and he nearly stumbled over his own two feet: the Italian was stronger than he looked.

“Eh, I’m not sure…” Alfred tried halfheartedly; he knew Feliciano belonged with captain Beilschmidt, and he hadn’t heard a lot about them yet, but he doubted they were friendlier than any other pirate crew he'd encountered so far.

“It will be fine! Kirkland and Francis are here too!”

Now Alfred was _definitely_ not sure – he didn’t know if Arthur would appreciate it if he suddenly barged in unannounced, especially after their encounter earlier today. Then again, it wasn’t as if Alfred invited himself over.

Feliciano dragged him around the corner to a more secluded part of the tavern, pushing open a pair of batwing doors. They entered a small room, with a round table in the middle. At it sat Arthur, Francis, the white-haired man he remembered seeing in Spain, and two other brown-haired men.

“ _Ve_ , look who I found! This is Alfred!” Feliciano immediately exclaimed cheerfully. “He helped Lovino in Spain, remember?”

Alfred hesitantly looked at Arthur, but he didn’t appear very angry with him; rather, he was studying him with curious, slightly unfocused eyes. At his side sat Francis, and the white-haired man he knew as captain Beilschmidt - Gilbert, he remembered Feliciano say.

Gilbert laughed loudly, leaning forward to slam his mug on the table, causing it to spill a little.

“Alfred fucking Jones! Oh man, I’ve been wanting to buy you a drink since forever. Antonio was _so_ pissed! Roderich, get us more drinks!”

A brown-haired man with spectacles on gave his captain an exasperated glare, but got to his feet anyway to shoulder past Alfred and Feliciano and toward the bar.

“Oh, I forgot the drinks…” Feliciano mumbled underneath his breath, looking back with a worried glance before shrugging and pushing Alfred closer to the table. “Eli! Eli, this is Alfred.”

The man in question, Eli, smiled widely up at them. A dimple appeared in both cheeks, and locks of brown hair peeked out from underneath a red scarf. His fancy clothes were rather baggy on his frame, and if Alfred didn’t know any better, he would say Eli wasn’t a pirate.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Alfred. I’m Eli, Gilbert’s navigator. You’re new, right?”

“Uh, yeah, somewhat. Nice to meet you.” He said politely.

“Sit down, sit down!” Gilbert said with a bright grin. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself, Jones!”

“I have?” Alfred asked, discreetly opting not to sit down – he had a job to get back to, after all, and he wasn’t that comfortable being in the same room with not one, but three notorious pirate captains. Never mind that he still wasn’t sure if Arthur was upset with him or not.

“Don’t mind Gilbert,” Eli said then, obviously kicking his captain underneath the table. Gilbert took it in stride and blew a kiss towards his navigator. “It’s just not every day that a stranger pisses off Antonio and lives to tell about it.”

“Though one would say the same of Arthur.” Francis crooned, petting Arthur’s arm amicably. "You must be special, Alfred."

“At least Alfred can actually earn his keep, unlike the good-for-nothing vagabonds you wankers keep picking up.” Arthur sneered, glaring at his fellow captain.

Alfred raised his eyebrows at the sudden compliment, even though Arthur probably meant it as a defensive statement for himself. 

“He's sounding more British than usual, aye? We better cut him off before it’s too late, Franny.”

“Fuck you, Beilschmidt.” Arthur scoffed while Francis chuckled.

Alfred frowned; there was a slight flush on Arthur’s cheeks, and he was slurring just the tiniest little bit… wait, was Arthur _tipsy_? He hadn’t even thought that was possible, but then again, Arthur usually nursed his drinks carefully.

Roderich returned with his arms full of mugs, which he roughly deposited on the table, before returning to his chair at Eli’s side. Immediately Eli shoved his chair closer to him, leaning into him while Roderich threw an arm around the back of Eli’s chair.

Alfred knew he was caught staring at the subtle display of affection when Eli winked at him and smirked, and he quickly averted his eyes, feeling his cheeks warm up.

However, now his eyes landed on Arthur again, and he involuntarily frowned when he saw how familiar Francis was with his captain – one of his arms was slung over the back of Arthur’s chair, his fingers idly playing with the shoulder of Arthur’s coat, and he expertly plucked Arthur’s mug out his hands to take a sip before handing it back.

Arthur caught his eyes and smirked knowingly at him, and Alfred immediately diverted his gaze towards Eli and Feliciano, knowing that _both_ he and Arthur knew why Alfred was frowning. 

Eli either didn't notice what just happened, or didn't comment on it. Instead he smiled pleasantly, nodding at the vacant chair to his left. 

“Why don’t you sit down, Alfred? Just ignore them, I always do.” Eli suggested. "They're more bark than bite, really."

"Oh, someone will bite someone tonight, all right." Gilbert crowed, laughing when Francis snorted into the drink he again stole from Arthur.

Arthur spared him a disgusted, sideways glare, refusing the take the mug back and shrugging Francis' hand from his shoulder.

"Come Jonesie, sit down and give me the dirt on ol' Artie here." Gilbert continued, grinning a little too wide.

"Alfred needs to return to the ship." Arthur immediately cut in, his tone indicating Alfred would lose a hand if he disagreed.

Eli frowned at him before looking back at Alfred - potentially giving him an excuse to disagree, he realized. 

He smiled a bit more genuinely at him then and nodded. "Yeah, uh, I should. Thanks though. Maybe next time."

He nearly startled when Gilbert jeered something in a language unknown to him, and Arthur suddenly slammed his pistol down on the table in lieu as a threat while Francis laughed loudly. Feliciano grimaced and edged closer to Eli, but neither him or Roderich looked too concerned.

“All right, well, may we meet again across the Atlantic.” Eli agreed, raising his mug in lieu of a goodbye.

Alfred spared them one more smile before leaving, ignoring how he could definitely feel Arthur's eyes on him as he left.

He wouldn’t mind getting to know Eli and Feliciano a little better, but for now, he wanted to get back on the ship and be alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Night shifts were usually quiet and relatively peaceful when they were docked, and thus Alfred never much minded them.

Almost everyone was out in town or below deck, with only a few of them guarding the upper decks: himself at the quarter deck, two men on the forecastle deck, and one in the mizzen mast’s nest.

He reasoned it was a good thing that the night was calm, because he kept getting distracted by replaying that day's events in his head. Several ‘what-ifs’ played their course in his thoughts, one more absurd than the other, and he was starting to get frustrated by it.

Things were getting unnecessarily complicated, and he placed all the blame on the horny and hopeful part of his brain that loved to indulge in wistful thinking.

He reminded himself that Arthur was not just his captain; he was also a pirate with an absurdly high price on his head.

Alfred should _not_ be romanticizing their interactions in his head, should _not_ have the sound of Arthur purring his name playing on repeat in his head, should _not_ fantasize about how Arthur would look at him if he –

_For fuck’s sake._

Alfred grumbled and kicked at a crate, deciding to do another round of the deck. Moving around would keep him distracted, and warm, since the sweltering heat of the day was replaced with a sudden cool once the sun had set.

Since no one was paying attention to him, he decided to wander over towards the steering wheel. Grabbing onto it, he briefly entertained himself with imagining he was at open sea, sailing the Dragon himself. It was, after all, a scene straight out of Alfred’s childhood fantasies.

If only Matthew could see him now.

Right; thinking about his family or about his home would only make him more miserable.

Alfred grimaced and leaned forward against the wheel, staring out at the ocean and its horizon. Apart from the gentle waves, it was eerily quiet, it being late enough that most people had gone to bed. Occasionally some drunkards on the docks would yell or argue, but nothing too exciting happened.

He toyed with the idea of asking the rigger in the nest to switch places with him, when there was suddenly movement below.

Two men boarded the ship, and he squinted to get a better look. Upon closer inspection he realized one of the men was Arthur – hence why no one sounded an alarm.

After a second he recognized the other man as the French captain, Francis. Like usual, he was attached to Arthur, causing them both to stumble a little every now and then.

He frowned and headed over to the railing to get a better look, realizing they weren’t paying any attention to him anyway.

“ _Mon chéri, tu me rends fou._ _Laisse-moi te prendre.“_

It took a while, but once Alfred realized what exactly was going on, he froze.

Francis was not just attached to his captain – he was pulling at Arthur’s clothing and had his face hidden in Arthur’s neck.

Arthur replied to the murmured words with a disgusted noise, but had his own hands buried in Francis’ hair, pulling him closer.

“ _J'ai envie de toi.”_ He had no idea what Francis was saying, but Alfred had an inkling of what the words meant anyway.

Arthur sighed, tilting his head a little to give Francis more access, while arching into his touch.

They stumbled towards the doors leading to the captain’s quarters and Francis pushed Arthur against it, giving Alfred a whole new angle.

He should definitely make himself scarce – yet Alfred could not look away as he watched Francis’ hand disappear into Arthur’s trousers.

Francis then detached himself from Arthur’s neck and slanted his face against Arthur’s instead, resulting in a messy, open mouthed kiss.

Alfred felt his face warm up - he'd kissed a girl or two back at home, but never like _that._ And while it looked a little questionable, he also couldn't deny being curious; it obviously had to be good, otherwise they wouldn't be doing it. 

The arm attached to the hand Francis had in Arthur's trousers twisted and bent suddenly, causing Arthur to slam his head back against the door and moan filthily. 

Alfred couldn’t help himself – a small noise left his own throat in response as, for the second time that day, he felt his own blood rush south.

He quickly stumbled back and out of sight, hoping that they hadn’t actually heard him.

Judging by Arthur's barely audible moaning and Francis' murmuring, they hadn't.

For some reason, Alfred found himself back at the railings to sneak in another peek. 

Francis had pulled down Arthur's shirt, it seemed, and was now biting at the bare skin of his shoulder. Alfred's eyes got stuck on it for a second, before he looked back at Arthur's face.

Arthur had his head against the door, tilted upwards, and his half-lidded green eyes bore right into Alfred’s own.

Upon seeing that Alfred knew that Arthur knew of his presence, Arthur _grinned,_ and Alfred felt his pulse quicken dangerously.

He wanted to retreat, or maybe even glare or frown, but instead he was frozen to the spot. His eyes betrayed him by following the tip of Arthur’s tongue, when it slid out to brush over his lips, all while keeping his eyes fixed on Alfred’s.

He probably imagined it, but he was fairly sure Arthur wasn’t mocking him or threatening him prematurely – it looked as if he was challenging him, daring him to do something about what was happening.

He’s not sure what expression he was wearing himself, but Arthur looked mightily amused anyway. Then he reached out behind him and opened the door, and the pair promptly disappeared from his line of sight as they entered the captain’s quarters.

The door shut behind them and Alfred scrambled back at the same time.

Ironically enough, the rigger on duty at the mizzen mast had climbed down, and now walked over to him with a hopeful expression.

“Jones, wanna switch –“

“Yes!” Alfred yelped, turning around and racing up towards the nest on the mizzen mast in record time. He heaved himself over the railing and allowed himself to end up on its floor, breathing in and out harshly.

At first, he tried to ignore the tent in his own trousers, but his mind bombarded him with images of Arthur – Arthur, whose lips had been swollen, whose cheeks had been flushed and whose pupils had been blown. Who had looked properly disheveled, and who had looked at Alfred as if he -

_Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit_

Trying to calm down, Alfred clenched his eyes shut and thought about unattractive things - his parents, the elderly couple that lived next to his parents _,_ dead bodies, the sight of that privateers head exploding a while back.

Nothing helped distract him from the image he just witnessed; of _Arthur_.

His own hand disappeared into his trousers without his permission, and he hissed as he pushed his shirttails away and wrapped a hand around his own cock.

It was already hot and heavy in his hand, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to get worked up this quick. 

Then again, normally he didn't really fantasize about anything. Now, he had plenty to think about, and he swallowed a groan as he rubbed his thumb over the leaking head of his cock.

His mind wandered to whatever was happening below him, working overtime to replace any image of Francis with himself. He couldn’t imagine Arthur being docile or pliant.

Arthur would probably be snide, maybe even a little mean. He’d play coy, taunt him. He’d no doubt want to be in control of things, no matter the position he’d be in.

He could imagine Arthur wanting to look down at him, and _fuck_ , if it wasn’t the hottest thing Alfred had ever fantasized about.

The moment his mind generously reminded him of the moan Arthur had produced minutes ago, and of their spar earlier today, and how Arthur had purred his name before pushing him overboard, it was over embarrassingly quick.

He squeezed himself through his release, panting and thinking only of burning emerald eyes right up until he got too sensitive and had to let go of himself.

Wiping his hand on his already dirty shirt, Alfred let his head smack back against the mast and allowed himself a pitiful groan.

Of course he’d known before, but now he could no longer deny or ignore his glaringly obvious infatuation.

The weirdly pleasant feeling whenever Arthur was nearby, that giddy feeling whenever Arthur shared a bottle of rum and some stories with him in the crow’s nest, or the quickening of his pulse and his racing heartbeat whenever Arthur grinned at him or teased him…

And embarrassingly enough, Arthur seemed to have been aware of it before he even properly acknowledged it himself.

Alfred was in way over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The (obvious) pining can begin!
> 
> Explanations:  
>  **\- The meaning of 'lily-livered'** \- an insult for someone who displays cowardice  
>  **\- Poop deck** \- A deck that forms the roof of a cabin built in the rear. It's called poop deck because it originates from the French word 'la poupe', which means stern.  
>  **\- Introducing the crew of DIe Ehrsucht** \- Captain Gilbert (Prussia), navigator Eli (Hungary), doctor Roderich (Austria) and cabin boy/musician Feliciano (Italy). Germany and Japan will be introduced as part of this crew later, as well!  
>  **\- Some unnecessary information about pirates and underwear** \- Okay so, pirates didn't often wear any underwear because it was expensive. But their trousers would get itchy, so to protect their noble bits, they'd tuck the family jewels into their shirttails. Yes, this was a thing I researched, and now you know it too!
> 
> Translations :  
> \- "Mon chéri, tu me rends fou. Laisse-moi te prendre.“ – My dear, you drive me crazy. Let me take you.  
> \- “J'ai envie de toi.” – I want you.


End file.
